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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22571743">Between the Lines</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_letter_c/pseuds/the_letter_c'>the_letter_c</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, M/M, Original Character(s), Racism, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:41:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>92,143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22571743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_letter_c/pseuds/the_letter_c</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Imperial Year 1180, a pair of unlikely friends form a bond that must endure the cruelty of others, an inescapable war, the anguish of grief, and the wicked hands of time itself. Told from the alternating perspectives of both Lysithea von Ordelia and Cyril, this is the story of how two young people struggled against the world at large and reconciled what they might do with the time they had left.</p><p>Rated T for graphic depictions of violence, death, war, trauma, and illness and for other adult themes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lysithea: Verdant Rain Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lysithea trudges her back to her dorm room following an encounter with a frustrating young boy, contending with her anger and her empathy along the way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Garreg Mach Monastery looked like the sky crashed down on it in the mornings. Billows of frigid mist swirled into every courtyard, over every field, and through every alleyway of the place, turning the hallowed grounds of the age-old monastery into a murky labyrinth. Some might have thought the morning atmosphere suited a place so well-associated with the heavens, but the reality was that it made making one’s way to early classes an absolute pain. For those who got themselves up even earlier, walking through the morning fog was tantamount to navigating the monastery in a blindfold.</p><p>Lysithea regularly cursed her luck for being an early riser, but her fear of the dark never allowed her to stay up or sleep in as long as she might have liked. This morning was no different; she had finally met someone just as prickly as she was.</p><p>
  <em> “You and me live in different worlds. There's no point lowering yourself down into mine.” </em>
</p><p>She had only tried to help the boy, but all she got in return was a splinter in her finger and an earful of harsh words. Picking the painful shard of wood out with her fingernails, Lysithea smoothed over the tiny wound with the flat of her thumb and grumbled as she trudged herself off back to her dorm room. She needed to collect her things from her room and get to class.</p><p>
  <em> Just who was Cyril to tell her what world she lived in? The very nerve of that little squirt! He didn’t even thank her for trying to help! What a waste of her free time. </em>
</p><p>The girl sighed and shook her hand out, as if the act of shaking would dull the pain or soothe her flaring temper. If she could not get her anger under control soon, her head would start to throb and then there would be no turning back.</p><p>
  <em> “Sure, we live in the same places now, but that's not gonna last forever. Don't see how it could, unless I actually turned into your little brother or something.” </em>
</p><p>The young student scoffed at the idea. Cooling down was the best thing for it.</p><p>
  <em> Cyril? Her little brother? How stupid! Lysithea had a brother once, but she was sure he would have turned out far nicer than Rhea’s little pet. He didn’t know what she had been through! He might have been better at handiwork than she was, but there wasn’t any way he had suffered through as much as she had... </em>
</p><p>Lysithea paused and scrunched up her nose. She had gone from hot to cold in an instant. There would be no migraine this morning, but guilt was similarly unpleasant.</p><p>
  <em> That was unkind. She didn’t know what Cyril had been through or how he had ended up at Garreg Mach. All she knew was that he was supposedly an Almyran war orphan that Rhea had taken in, and that he had chosen to be the monastery’s glorified errand boy. And people probably treated him horribly. Lysithea could hide her two Crests and pretend that her hair had always been white, but Cyril? His dark skin, black hair, and orange eyes were as Almyran as they came. It was downright stupid that people put such emphasis on things as insignificant as Crests or physical appearance.    </em>
</p><p>A heavy lump formed in her throat, and she gulped it back uncomfortably. She wanted to cry.</p><p>
  <em> She and Cyril were the youngest people at the monastery, but they were probably also the most vulnerable. Each had something about themselves that they couldn’t escape. In spite of all of that, though... they were probably the hardest workers at Garreg Mach as well! Lysithea liked the sound of that. </em>
</p><p>Drying her eyes on her sleeve, the young student took a deep breath and started walking back to her dorm room again. This time, she did it with a smile creeping up her face.</p><p><em> Maybe she and Cyril didn’t live in such different worlds after all. Maybe she could be there for him… like an older sister or something. He </em> <em> was </em> <em> the one to suggest it! </em></p><p>By the time Lysithea had made it to the Fishing Pond, her temper had died down considerably and it was evident that she had avoided a potential crisis. Working through things by herself typically put her in a better mood, and a better mood meant a lower blood pressure. Being able to successfully cope made Lysithea feel self-sufficient and mature… which quickly gave way to a blissful sense of anticipation once she saw the sumptuous cake Claude was carting out of the back door of the Dining Hall. </p><p>
  <em> That’s right! Leonie’s birthday! Hopefully she’d share a slice of that delicious cake with the rest of the class. What flavour was it? She hoped it would be vanilla. Would Claude - being the idiot that he is - try to get the Professor to slice it with the Sword of the Creator? He probably would. And would Cyril be joining them for class today? If he was, she resolved to be nicer to him… even if he was a bit prickly. After all, she was too. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun fact: this entire fic started out as a writing exercise! I'm sure you'll be able to tell from these earlier chapters, but I'm happy enough to keep them around on the basis of pacing and such.</p><p>This first chapter is what really committed me to writing and posting this fic (which is ironic because it's also the shortest chapter I've written to date). Lysithea is pretty fiery in her early supports, and I wanted to show here how that fire could burn both ways. I won't go into spoiler territory until later chapters, but I will say that her temper does affect her physical health and it frustrates her immensely. I also wanted to illustrate here that though Lysithea will think and say some pretty mean things, she has the empathy and emotional maturity to put together why those that line of thinking may be wrong. Please feel free to let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cyril: Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cyril goes about his typical morning routine, and gets the chance to confide in the only person he trusts absolutely.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.</p>
<p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Garreg Mach Monastery looked like a smoke-stained fireplace in the mornings. At least, in the morning before the sun rose. While the students and most of the faculty at the monastery were wasting away precious hours sleeping, the gears were already turning to make the famed home of Saint Seiros everything it promised to be. Tables had to be wiped down, furnaces had to be stocked with firewood and lit, pathways had to be swept, and the market grounds had to be cleaned up before the merchants arrived.</p>
<p>By the time Cyril finished his early morning chores, the sun had begun to peek up over the roofs of the Knight’s Quarters in the west. Cyril liked watching the sun rise upon his hard work, and he knew Lady Rhea appreciated it too. She never failed to tell him so when he greeted her every morning with breakfast, and there was no doubt in his mind that she would again today.</p>
<p>
  <em> Never mind the Professor and that old sword from the crypt. Cyril had a freshly peeled apple, two crisp slices of wheat toast, some soft, melty butter, a pair of fried eggs, and a nice rasher of bacon for Rhea. And if all that didn’t do the trick for her, then the piping, hot cup of Seiros blend tea would. </em>
</p>
<p>Making his way up the stairs to the Archbishop’s private quarters, Cyril noticed one of the guards posted to protect the stairwell eyeing him, if only for a moment. He had gotten used to these looks from Fódlaners a long time ago. It hardly mattered to them that he was practically still a child nor that he was the Archbishop’s ward; no one here trusted Almyrans.</p>
<p>
  <em> At least, no one worth listening to. It didn’t matter. Cyril might not have had a place in Fódlan or Almyra, but he had a place with Rhea. That mattered more than anything else to him. </em>
</p>
<p>The boy reached the oaken double-doors and announced his entrance with three knocks, a pause, then two more knocks in quick succession.</p>
<p>“Please, come in,” the melodic voice from the other side responded.</p>
<p>
  <em> That was his cue. </em>
</p>
<p>“Good morning, Lady Rhea,” Cyril said, closing the door behind him. “Did ya sleep okay?”</p>
<p>The Archbishop was stretching herself out in bed when the boy let himself in. Though Rhea was only dressed in a simple nightgown, she still managed to look like one of the beautiful saints that adorned the many tapestries around the monastery. But by the state of her hair and the puffiness of her eyes, Cyril could tell that poor Rhea had only just woken up. </p>
<p>
  <em> He didn’t mind. In fact, it was nice that she let him see her like this. It meant that she trusted him. That she could literally let her hair down around him. </em>
</p>
<p>“I did, Cyril,” the Archbishop answered. “I had that lovely dream about my mother again. You know the one.”</p>
<p>Cyril nodded and placed the tray of food gingerly on her lap. Rhea smiled at him and patted the space on the bed beside her. The boy didn’t hesitate to take a seat.</p>
<p>“Thank you for this, Cyril. As usual, it looks lovely,” she chimed. “How did you sleep?”</p>
<p>
  <em> Rhea’s voice never failed to soothe him. </em>
</p>
<p>“Not too bad,” he replied, “though I probably could’ve woken up earlier to get more done this morning.”</p>
<p>“You do plenty.”</p>
<p>“I could do plenty more.”</p>
<p>Rhea laughed as she expertly transferred one of her eggs onto a slice of toast with her fork. The yolk hardly even jiggled. </p>
<p>“You really are a blessing, Cyril,” she said warmly. “How have things been during your time with the Golden Deer? You joined them last month, so I’m sure you’ve made some friends among them in the time since.”</p>
<p>“Not really,” the boy confessed. “Claude’s real nosy and keeps going on about me and Almyra, and Hilda’s the same but lazy instead of nosy. Then there’s that weirdo, Ignatz. I can tell he wants to help out, but he’s not real good at anything. And then there’s Lysithea…”</p>
<p>He paused for a slight second.</p>
<p>
  <em> The girl with hands like a princess's, hair like snow, skin like cream, and a temper like a dragon's.  </em>
</p>
<p>“She’s okay,” Cyril concluded.</p>
<p>Rhea noticed the pause and raised a brow. “Just okay?”</p>
<p>“Uh... yeah?” he replied hesitantly. “I can tell she’s trying real hard to be nice to me, but she’s a little bossy.”</p>
<p>“And you enjoy it.”</p>
<p>“W-What?”</p>
<p>“I’ve known you for how long now? There’s no need to be shy, Cyril.”</p>
<p>“Right… I just…”</p>
<p>“You enjoy it. She respects that you have boundaries, but she’s assertive enough to show you that she cares.” The Archbishop paused for a small bite of her egg on toast, continuing only after her mouth was empty. “I think you may have a friend in her.”</p>
<p>
  <em> How did she get all of that from such a little pause? </em>
</p>
<p>“I guess.” Cyril shrugged. “But she won’t be around after graduation next year. I don’t really see the point in making a friend that’s only gonna be around for a little bit of time.”</p>
<p>Rhea did not respond.</p>
<p>
  <em> Had Cyril said something wrong?  </em>
</p>
<p>“Lady Rhea?”</p>
<p>“Cyril,” she replied at last. “May I offer you some advice?”</p>
<p>“Uh… Yeah. Sure, Lady Rhea.”</p>
<p>“Never take the time you have with someone for granted,” Rhea offered, staring down into her breakfast. “Even if it’s only for a short while, the time they’re there can change you. Sometimes for the better.”</p>
<p>Another moment of silence fell between the Archbishop and her ward, but it was hardly as uncomfortable as the first. This was far more mutual than the first.</p>
<p>
  <em> She was probably talking about her mother… and about his parents. It made Cyril sad to think about them, but he had Rhea looking out for him now. And Rhea? She didn’t have anyone like that. That must have been hard for her. Grown-ups were allowed to miss their parents too, weren’t they? </em>
</p>
<p>“Okay, Lady Rhea,” the boy said, breaking the silence. “If Lysithea wants to be my friend, then I’ll try to be her friend too.”</p>
<p>Rhea picked her eyes up from her tray as she smiled at Cyril. It was a sadder smile than he was used to seeing from her, but he could tell it was genuine.</p>
<p>
  <em> Rhea lived with a lot of sadness that she didn’t share with anyone. Not even Cyril. </em>
</p>
<p>“That’s my sweet Cyril,” the Archbishop offered warmly. “If you’d be so kind, would you help me with one of these eggs? I’m afraid I can’t eat them both.”</p>
<p>Cyril smiled back and obliged her, reaching over the tray to drag an egg onto a piece of toast. The delicate yolk burst almost immediately, and the two shared a laugh as the warm morning sun filtered in through the windows.</p>
<p>
  <em> Cyril could never take these moments he had with Lady Rhea for granted, but maybe it was time he opened up to other people too. At the very least, he'd give it a try. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rhea is not typically portrayed as a sympathetic character, likely because she's pretty guilty of a lot of terrible things. That said, she isn't a wholly good or a wholly bad person. In this chapter, I wanted to explore Rhea's humanity a bit more in her interactions with one of the many people who adore her. Three Houses kind of gave off the impression that Cyril was as loyal to her as he was just because she rescued him, but a couple of his supports hint that their relationship was bit more complex than that of a boy grateful boy and a powerful woman. In short: I wanted to portray the motherly side of Rhea that a lot of the characters in Three Houses kept talking about but of which the game never really showcased. I hope you like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Lysithea: Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>To meet the challenge of her weekly goals from Professor Byleth, Lysithea spends an afternoon in the library with a good book and kind (albeit smelly) librarian.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.</p>
<p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was something comforting about Garreg Mach’s neat little library. It was hardly a fraction of the size of Derdriu’s colossal library back in Alliance territory, but it made the archive at Ordelia Manor seem like a stack of loose papers. And the smell of it was positively delightful. Kind Tomas, the veteran librarian at Garreg Mach, filled all of the lanterns in his little library with scented oils. The faint aroma of lavender, lacquered wood, and old paper made this particular room a favourite for any student who hoped to study in peaceful bliss.</p>
<p>Lysithea was one of these students. Professor Byleth had asked her to brush up on her understanding of Reason and Faith Magic, and the monastery’s library was positively brimming with grimoires on both. Today, she was focusing on Faith Magic, and a recent addition to the library proved to be just what she needed.</p>
<p>
  <em> The Saint of Faerghus, Cornelia Arnim. If Lysithea could learn any of the healing or mobility spells that helped Cornelia end the Weeping Plague in Faerghus, she herself might be a famed Gremory in no time flat. Perhaps she’d even get the chance to meet Cornelia someday… if time permitted. </em>
</p>
<p>The young student was positively engrossed in her book. Though she knew the basics of simple healing spells well, she read over them all the same just for the sheer bliss of it. The specifics of the Warp Spell were particularly interesting. She committed the incantation to memory, and resolved to try it out once she was done reading. Then came tactical applications for the spell in quarantine settings and on the battlefield. </p>
<p>
  <em> Cornelia answered every question Lysithea had without her ever having to make the trip to Fhirdiad. </em>
</p>
<p>Before she knew it, Lysithea had reached the back cover of her book. She closed it and looked around, realising how strained her eyes were. It would take a moment for her to blink the fuzziness out of her vision, but once she did, she noticed something curious. There was a sandwich beside her.</p>
<p>
  <em> And a nice one at that! Orange marmalade and brie on a nice, crusty roll. </em>
</p>
<p>“Tomas, did you leave this here?” she asked quietly, turning to the librarian.</p>
<p>The kindly old man raised a hand to his ear before shrugging his shoulders and shuffling over to meet the student where she was sitting. The smell of his cologne was overpowering, but not entirely unpleasant. Bergamot and cedarwood. </p>
<p>
  <em> Poor Tomas probably wore all that cologne to cover up the scent of aging, but Lysithea knew better than to ask. The old librarian was kind to everyone, especially library regulars like Lysithea. There was something... familiar about his smell, though. She couldn’t quite put her finger… or nose on it. It must have been old person smell. </em>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, child,” came Tomas politely, “Could you repeat that for me?”</p>
<p>“Certainly,” Lysithea replied. “I was just asking if you left your lunch here. It looks to be a sandwich of some sort.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” the librarian chuckled. “I’m afraid my sandwich days are behind me now. Soft teeth.”</p>
<p>He gestured to his mouth and smiled.</p>
<p>
  <em> What an embarrassing mistake! </em>
</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Lysithea apologised.</p>
<p>“There’s no need, child,” Tomas replied, “In any event, this sandwich is yours.”</p>
<p>“Mine?” she asked.</p>
<p>“Yes. Young Cyril came asking after you, but I told him you were studying diligently and weren’t to be disturbed.”</p>
<p>“Cyril?”</p>
<p>“Indeed. I believe he wanted to invite you to have lunch with him and a few of your other classmates, but settled for bringing it to you instead.”</p>
<p>
  <em> That was sweet of him. Unexpected, but sweet all the same. And how did he know she had a sweet tooth? </em>
</p>
<p>“Thank you, Tomas,” Lysithea replied earnestly. “I’ll have to find Cyril to thank him properly for this later.”</p>
<p>Tomas smiled again and nodded, and Lysithea reached for her sandwich to take a bite, before…</p>
<p>
  <em> Oh, dear. Poor Tomas must have been so self-conscious of that smell, but it was overpowering even through his cologne. Lysithea would have to be clever and polite in equal measures to get through this without embarrassing him. </em>
</p>
<p>“Oh, Tomas,” she added, putting her sandwich down. “This book was a wonderful read. Did Lady Cornelia ever write a follow-up?”</p>
<p>“Not that I’m aware, child,” answered the librarian, unaware of her diversion.</p>
<p>“Oh… that’s a shame,” she replied disappointedly. “It’s been 5 years since she wrote this.”</p>
<p>
  <em> It really was a shame. There was a lot she still had to learn about Faith Magic, and Cornelia was probably the best cleric in Fódlan. </em>
</p>
<p>“Oh, I wouldn’t fret, little one,” Tomas responded. “Those who make great things happen seldom rest on their laurels. I’m sure Lady Cornelia has many more wonderful things in store for Fódlan.”</p>
<p>“I agree,” Lysithea came wholeheartedly. “And I don’t intend to rest on mine either. I may have finished her book, but I’m far from mastering her craft. Tomas, I hope you’ll excuse me, but I’m going to take my lunch to the training yard. I want to start practicing as soon as possible.”</p>
<p>“Oh? What’s the rush?” asked the librarian.</p>
<p>“It’s Cyril. I want to thank him by making his life a little easier,” Lysithea replied. “Until he masters his flying lessons, he’s going to keep being left behind on the battlefield. If I can master the Warp Spell, I can help him get out of danger or into position whenever he needs it next.”</p>
<p>“That’s the spirit!” the kind old man agreed. “One good deed deserves another.”</p>
<p>“Thank you again, Tomas,” Lysithea said cheerfully. “For the book and the encouragement. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!”</p>
<p>“And you, child,” he replied, wishing her farewell with a wave. “Best of luck in Gronder next week!”</p>
<p>
  <em> In spite of the unfortunate smell, Tomas really was a kind, old gentleman. It was a shame she had never seen him around in Ordelia territory, but that hardly mattered now. House Ordelia had been the ones to recommend him for the librarian position, and it seemed appropriate that he might come to visit from time to time when he passed through. In the meantime, however, Lysithea had a marmalade sandwich to devour and a new skill to test out. If she could get the Warp Spell down pat, she could repay Cyril by sending him as many sandwiches as he’d like from anywhere in the monastery! </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In this chapter, I really wanted to flesh out another character we weren't given a lot of exposure to in Three Houses. In the game, you'll find that a lot of people in Garreg Mach speak very well of Tomas. I wanted to explore this a bit more before his character's "departure" early on in the game, especially in his interactions with a student of the Officer's Academy. This chapter is positively brimming with foreshadowing, and it was probably my favourite chapter to write thus far. Please let me know what you think of sweet, old Tomas if you liked this!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Cyril: Red Wolf Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Though utterly dependable and fiercely self-reliant as a groundskeeper, Cyril finds himself in constant need of rescue as a classroom attendee at the Officer's Academy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was something unnerving about Garreg Mach’s cramped, little lecture halls. Though all eyes were supposed to be facing forward, one could never quite shake the feeling that others were looking over one’s shoulder. Two to three people occupied each table and shared a bench facing the chalkboard. If one was early enough, they could find a seat in the back, away from the prying eyes of their classmates. And if not… the front row was almost always available.</p><p>Though Cyril was punctual to a fault when it came time to do his chores around the monastery, those same chores made him regularly late for Professor Byleth’s lectures. This would have meant certain destruction if Cyril had to sit in the front with someone like Lorenz, Leonie, or Flayn. If he had to sit next to Flayn, Seteth would piece together his secret by the end of the week. Fortunately for the young groundskeeper, however, he had someone looking out for him. </p><p>
  <em> He was probably going to have to get her another candied apple today after class. </em>
</p><p>Cyril’s “guardian angel” was Lysithea. She had rescued him from one of Seteth’s missives last month, and he knew she had done so knowing that he could not read it. It had been practically plastered all over the poor boy when she found him in the Dining Hall, and he asked her to keep his secret between the two of them. Instead of laughing at Cyril or questioning his usefulness to the monastery, though, Lysithea smiled and offered to read to him whenever he needed it. Class was when he needed it the most, and so they agreed to sit next to each other for the rest of the year.</p><p>
  <em> And what a year it had been! </em>
</p><p>“Sorry I’m late, Professor!” Cyril apologised as he pushed the door shut behind him. “Shamir and the rest of the Knights are out investigating that Remire place. I’ve been picking up her duties around here for her, but I know I shouldn’t be late!”</p><p>“That’s fine,” the Professor replied calmly. Byleth’s voice almost always sounded monotone, so it was difficult to tell whether the Professor was truly angry or not. “Take a seat next to Lysithea and look on with her at page two-hundred and thirty-two of the tactics primer.”</p><p>
  <em> Cyril didn’t own any books of his own, so it was real nice of Lysithea to ask the Professor if he could share hers. It gave everyone the impression that he was just poor and not illiterate to boot. </em>
</p><p>The boy nodded and made his way past the other members of the Golden Deer. The room was positively packed these days, mostly with transfers from the other two Houses. Cyril and Raphael even spent an afternoon moving tables from the storage room to the Golden Deer lecture hall to accomodate them all. Petra, Ignatz, and Ashe all smiled at him as he walked by them, but he could tell without looking that Lorenz was annoyed by the interruption.</p><p>“Sorry,” Cyril whispered to Lysithea as he sat down beside her. “What’d I miss?”</p><p>“We’re learning evacuation procedures today,” the girl replied quietly, pointing to the illustration in her tactics primer. “In case we need to get civilians out of a warzone.”</p><p>
  <em> That would be important for the mission this month. Something was going on in Remire, and they’d probably have to move a bunch of village folk to safety in order to investigate it. </em>
</p><p>Byleth resumed the lecture, putting emphasis on maintaining formation to project order. Evacuations promised to be hectic, and it was important to let the crowd know that security forces in the area were well-organised to protect them. </p><p>
  <em> Cyril knew a thing or two about evacuating from a warzone. Maybe he could lecture the class about what it was like from a frightened civilian’s perspective. </em>
</p><p>Suddenly, something tapped rudely against Cyril’s shoulder.</p><p>“Psst,” a voice from behind came quietly. “Hey! Psst! Can you pass this note forward without being seen?”</p><p>Cyril turned slightly as to not attract suspicion. It was Sylvain. </p><p>“No,” the boy replied.</p><p>“Pleeeease,” Sylvain begged quietly. “C’mon, little buddy. It’s for Hilda.”</p><p>“No,” Cyril doubled down. “Go up there and give it to her yourself after class if it means that much to ya.”</p><p>“But it’s more exciting when there’s danger involved!” Syvain insisted. “Ladies love a bit of intrigue.”</p><p>“I said no,” the younger boy growled. “You’re being stupid.”</p><p>Before Sylvain could offer another protest, Lysithea turned and scowled at him.</p><p>“Leave Cyril alone,” she demanded quietly. “Some people are here to learn.”</p><p>“Exactly!” Sylvain chimed in, undeterred. “And right now, you two have a chance to brush up on your stealth skills. Come on, think of it as a covert mission! Cyril? Lysithea? I’m sure one or even both of you kiddos would love to step up and take that chance?”</p><p>
  <em> ‘Kiddos’? Sylvain wasn’t very good at choosing his words, and this was not going to end well. </em>
</p><p>Cyril spared his friend a glance, but she was surprisingly cool. Accepting Sylvain’s note and waving him off, Lysithea turned back around and sat up straight in her seat. Cyril thought to ask her if she was all right or may even have tried to stop her from passing the note forward, but Lysithea shot him a knowing look before clearing her throat loudly and raising her hand.</p><p>“Pardon me, Professor,” the girl interrupted, “but I have something from one of my classmates that I’d like to present to the class.”</p><p>
  <em> Sylvain should have waited until class to deliver the note to Hilda himself. </em>
</p><p>Byleth turned from the chalkboard and acknowledged Lysithea, while Cyril noted that Sylvain had sunk to the bottom of his chair like an anchor cut loose from its chain. </p><p>“Go ahead,” the Professor said simply. “Make it quick.”</p><p>“Thank you, Professor,” Lysithea replied, standing up. “Sweet Hilda…”</p><p>The girl sitting next to Claude snapped to attention upon hearing her name.</p><p>“I’d like you to know the truth about my recent transfer,” Lysithea continued to read, clearly unimpressed by Sylvain’s boorish attempts at romance. “The truth is: I transferred to the Golden Deer House for you, my Golden Dear.” </p><p>The entire room burst out into uproarious laughter at that, with even Hilda herself joining in. Sylvain was dead to rights, and Ashe, sitting beside him, had to fight back tears to help his friend up from the ground.</p><p>“Dedue and Prince Dimitri will understand,” Lysithea read, commanding the class’s laughter as if she were the conductor of some vast orchestra, “that my lonely heart is simply not able to go on without-”</p><p>“That’s enough,” Byleth interrupted mercifully. Many in the room were still cackling, wheezing, or slapping their hands on their tables after Byleth had spoken, but the Professor silenced them by smacking the class copy of the tactics primer loudly against the chalkboard. “Lysithea, please destroy that letter before anymore gets read. Sylvain, I’ll see you after class.” The Professor sighed. “No more interruptions now. We need to get through this chapter before the bell.”</p><p>Lysithea did as she was told, using a plume of fire magic to reduce Sylvain’s note to ash in her hand. When she sat down, Cyril noticed the look of pure contentment in his friend’s eyes.</p><p>
  <em> He hadn’t seen anyone look so satisfied before in his life. Why, Cyril himself had never been so satisfied. But this was different. Sylvain might have gotten what he deserved, but it was the greater picture that got Cyril so excited. Whether it was from one of Seteth’s requests or Sylvain’s stupidity, Lysithea would smile like that whenever she rescued him. And she had a really nice smile… maybe even as nice as Lady Rhea’s. </em>
</p><p>“And that concludes the chapter on tactical evacuations,” Byleth concluded, snapping the primer shut as the afternoon bell began to toll. “Your weekly goals are the same as they were last week. Please refer to the corkboard outside if you’re unfamiliar with them. Class dismissed.”</p><p>As the students (barring Sylvain) began to file out of the lecture hall, Cyril scooped Lysithea’s books up and carried them for her as the two walked out of the room together. She was still looking quite pleased with herself.</p><p>“Thanks for that,” Cyril said, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t think he was going to quit.”</p><p>“He wasn’t,” Lysithea replied quickly. “And he wasn’t going to learn anything either if someone didn’t step up to teach him.”</p><p>“Well, I’m sure he learned something from that,” chuckled the boy as they finally made it through the crowd and into the courtyard. “But seriously, Lysithea: I’m real grateful that you’re always looking out for me.”</p><p>“Of course, Cyril,” she replied, turning on a heel to face him. “And I’m grateful to have you looking out for me too. Now why don’t we head over to the Dining Hall and look out for something nice to eat!”</p><p>Cyril tucked the stack of books under his arm and nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, let’s go! I never thought laughing so hard could be such hungry work!”</p><p>“That’s because you didn’t eat lunch before you came to class,” Lysithea correctly pointed out, giggling as she turned to bolt for the Dining Hall. “You’re never going to get taller than me if you don’t eat!”</p><p>“Haha, hey! No fair! You’re a year older than me!” Cyril laughed as he chased after her.</p><p>
  <em> Lady Rhea was right; having friends was nice, and having a best friend was nicer. Especially a best friend who covered all of his weaknesses, and let him cover all of hers back. Still… some part of him knew their time together was running out. That was tough to accept, but he promised to try. And who knew? It wasn’t like graduation meant they’d never see each other again. Cyril would keep working hard for Lady Rhea, and maybe she’d make him a knight someday. Then he’d be able to visit Lysithea from time to time, and they could keep being friends. Now there was something to get excited for! </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know I beat around the around the bush for having these two interact properly, but I swear it was intentional. Lysithea and Cyril's support conversations don't actually establish them as proper friends until their B-Support, and I think that's consistent with the kind of person character Three Houses portrays him to be. I wanted this chapter to illustrate what Cyril's blossoming idea of friendship looks like, show him demonstrating reciprocity the only way he knows how, and have him bond Lysithea over their mutual annoyance with other people's shenanigans. This is also important in establishing Lysithea as the protecting figure she hoped to be for Cyril back in the first chapter, and I wanted to showcase just how much that support means to Cyril (whose only advocates before were a mercenary and the head of a major religious organisation). As always, comments and feedback are much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Lysithea: Ethereal Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the outrage of a revelation becomes too painful to bear, Lysithea is given a moment's respite.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ninth month of the calendar year was usually also the coldest and the darkest month as well. Though the winter solstice would descend upon Garreg Mach in the coming weeks, the chill was already well upon the area. Windows frosted over, snow piled high on unshoveled roads and pathways, and every hearth and stove in the monastery was ignited to keep its many residents warm. And in no other building at the monastery was the warmth more appreciated than in its Student Dormitory blocks.</p><p>It had been a week since the Remire Calamity, and Lysithea had not left her room since coming back. Bernadetta kindly volunteered to drop off Lysithea’s coursework everyday, Manuela made daily housecalls, and Cyril dutifully brought his friend her meals every morning, noon, and night. The revelation of what transpired in Remire had triggered the worst series of migraines Lysithea could ever remember enduring. Auras and resolutions faded into one another, and she saw little in the way of recovery time.</p><p>
  <em> This was the worst. It was her stupid blood and what those monsters did to it. But they had resurfaced. She’d find them someday. After she made sure her parents were safe, she’d find those monsters and make sure they were never able to do this to anyone else ever again. </em>
</p><p>There came a knock at the door, and Lysithea groaned to signal that it was unlocked. It was Cyril again. He was carrying a tray of clear broth, a pitcher of water, and a tiny burlap bag wrapped up with some twine.</p><p>“On the desk...” the girl murmured, burying her face in her pillow. It was clear that she had just gotten through the worst of another painful headache. “Ugh… I hope you’re doing better than I am.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Cyril answered, setting the tray down and putting the pitcher aside, “but I hate seeing ya like this.”</p><p>“Then go,” she snapped, her voice muffled by the pillow. “No one’s keeping you here!”</p><p>“Hey, I’m not leaving ya,” he replied sharply. “Not while you’re like this. Not while you’re here.”</p><p>
  <em> She had forgotten that Cyril could be prickly too, though he was being significantly kinder than she was. </em>
</p><p>“I know,” Lysithea responded, pulling her face out of her pillow and offering Cyril a weak smile. Her skin was paler than it usually was and dark circles had formed under her eyes. She had not had a decent night’s sleep since leaving for Remire. “You’re always looking out for me.”</p><p>“You’re the one who started it,” Cyril teased, smiling back. He turned his attention to the basin of water on the floor beside her bed and then at the stack of towelettes on the bedside table. Cyril took one of them, and soaked it in the water. As he wrung it out, he sighed. “Head still feelin’ hot today?”</p><p>
  <em> Like a furnace. </em>
</p><p>Lysithea nodded and Cyril folded the towelette so he could place it neatly on her forehead. </p><p>
  <em> He had rough hands for someone so young, but he could be very gentle with them when he wanted to be. Lysithea still hadn’t told him why she got like this yet. He told her his secret more than a month ago, but she hadn’t offered him the same courtesy. Maybe it was time for some sort of explanation. </em>
</p><p>“Hey, Cyril?” she asked.</p><p>“Hey, Lysithea,” he answered.</p><p>She smiled. “I have to tell you something, but you must promise not to tell another living soul.”</p><p>Cyril raised a brow and looked at her queerly.</p><p>“It’s… about what’s going on with me,” Lysithea sighed. “Though I need to hear you say that you won’t tell anyone about it before I say anything more.”</p><p>“What happened?” Cyril demanded, his voice cracking with worry. “Did the Death Knight do this to ya when we ran into him again? I saw him come in from the west, but I couldn’t get to ya in time to-”</p><p>“No,” she interrupted, closing her eyes and smiling. “That creepy guy has everyone else scared, but he couldn’t touch me even if he wanted to.”</p><p>“Yeah…” the boy replied with a gulp. “The Professor says you’re our answer to him.”</p><p>Now Lysithea was grinning. She motioned to the shelf above her bed, and she laughed to see his jaw drop.</p><p>“Y-Ya stole one of his horns?!” Cyril stammered.</p><p>“A trophy,” Lysithea replied smugly. “I’m going to get the whole helmet next time. You know that’s probably just Professor Jeritza under there, right?”</p><p>“I know,” the boy replied somberly. “I just don’t get why he was working with Tomas.”</p><p>Any hint of levity in the room suddenly died with that name. Lysithea scowled so hard she could feel it deep in her skull. </p><p>
  <em> Tomas. Solon. Whoever he was. Lysithea didn’t want to hear that horrid old man’s name ever again. She knew he stank! That smell… it wasn’t old person at all; it was formaldehyde, and he reeked of it underneath all of that cologne. She hadn’t met anyone who smelled that strongly of it since… </em>
</p><p>“I change my mind,” Lysithea snapped brusquely, turning away from Cyril to lie on her side. “I don’t have anything to say after all. Not to you. Not today.”</p><p>Silence followed, and the girl’s furious outrage slowly dissolved into creeping remorse. Lysithea wanted to turn back and apologise, but pride and discomfort forced her to stay as she was for fear of seeing the hurt she had inflicted on her friend. </p><p>“Can we talk about something else instead?” Cyril asked, breaking the silence. </p><p>
  <em> He wasn’t upset or sad or even a little put off by her snapping at him the way she did? </em>
</p><p>The boy continued, “How ‘bout Raphael?”</p><p>“Raphael?” Lysithea asked, perplexed. “What about him?”</p><p>“Ya didn’t hear yet?” Cyril sounded amused now. “Claude thought he heard Raphael shouting at some girl the other day.”</p><p>Her interest piqued, Lysithea rolled over in her bed to face the boy sitting across from her. “That isn’t true! Raphael doesn’t even shout at the enemy!”</p><p>“Haha, I know!” her friend laughed. “It’s weird, right?”</p><p>“The weirdest!” she agreed. “He’s too nice to shout at anyone in the Academy.”</p><p>“That’s the thing!” Cyril remarked. “Turns out he wasn’t shouting at that girl; he was teaching her how to do a battle cry.”</p><p>Lysithea raised a brow. “No way! Who enrolls at the Officer’s Academy without knowing how to shout for battle?”</p><p>“No one,” Cyril said, rolling his eyes. “It was Flayn.”</p><p>“Oh wow, that makes sense,” the girl scoffed. “Those two are both weirdly nice.”</p><p>“Yeah, I thought so too when I first met them!”</p><p>Lysithea was laughing now, and Cyril quickly joined her. </p><p>“Haha… Hey, Cyril: you know who else is weird?”</p><p>“Haha, who? Lorenz?”</p><p>“Yes, exactly! He’s a disaster with women, he talks down to everyone, and he makes Claude seem like a reasonable person to lead the Alliance someday.”</p><p>“And who chooses to cut their hair like that?!”</p><p>“He looks like a purple chamberpot!”</p><p>The two adolescents exploded into fits of laughter that carried on for far longer than either of them cared to imagine, only pausing to catch their breath when one of them had another thing to say about one of their classmates. First came the Golden Deer and their Professor, then the Black Eagles. By the time Lysithea and Cyril made it halfway through the Blue Lions, her face had turned as pink as her pupils and her friend was tearing up.</p><p>“Okay…” she gasped, now completely out of breath. “No more… that’s enough for now...”</p><p>“Yeah…” Cyril agreed, getting up from his chair and wiping the tears from his eyes with the side of his hand. “I think… I think I should crack a window. Phew, I don’t think I ever laughed for that long.”</p><p>“I know I haven’t...” Lysithea replied, taking a deep breath as she sat up on her bed. She had kicked her sheets to the bottom of the bed frame while laughing earlier. “Hey, Cyril?”</p><p>“Hey, Lysithea,” he answered, turning from the windowsill.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said gratefully, pulling the tray Cyril had brought earlier onto her lap and dipping her spoon into the bowl of clear broth. “I needed this.”</p><p>“The soup?” Cyril asked, sitting back down as she supped. “Isn’t it real cold now, though?”</p><p>“No! Well... yes it is cold,” Lysithea answered, “but no, I didn’t mean the soup. I meant to thank you for cheering me up. I needed a reason to smile and laugh again. One that didn’t involve Claude poking fun of me for being childish.”</p><p>“Claude’s the kid; he doesn’t act half as mature as you do and I don’t think he ever will,” retorted the boy. “In any case, I figured what ya were trying to say was that your head starts to hurt when ya get real mad, so I wanted to make you feel the opposite. Besides, it’s nice to see ya smile.”</p><p>Lysithea felt her face getting warm again, so she quickly took her bowl of cold broth in both hands and took a deep gulp in an attempt to douse herself. It was not anger nor laughter that warmed her to the marrow this time; this time, it was embarrassment.</p><p>
  <em> The soup dribbling down her chin probably didn’t help, but she had fatigue and hunger as an excuse. It was a very clever strategy, but one that wouldn’t last. She’d have to change the subject as quickly as possible to keep herself from getting too flustered while doing her best to keep Cyril in the dark. </em>
</p><p>“Oh, I almost forgot!” Lysithea announced, wiping her mouth on her wrist. “Did you hear about Sylvain?”</p><p>Cyril groaned, “Hear ‘bout what? His girl-problems, his Felix-problems, or how he’s scared of you now?”</p><p>“The former,” the young student answered. “Apparently, Sylvain and Ingrid were walking together the other week when he spotted another girl who caught his fancy. You know as well as I do how little Sylvain actually considers his actions, so when he asked that other girl to go to the White Heron Ball with him right in front of Ingrid, they both slapped him!”</p><p>“I’m not surprised,” replied the boy, unimpressed. “That sounds like Sylvain, all right. People have been making a big deal outta the White Heron Ball since before Lady Rhea ever brought me here, so it makes sense that Ingrid and that other girl would get mad at him for trying to play with their feelings.”</p><p>“You’re very perceptive, Cyril,” Lysithea responded. “What do you think of the White Heron Ball? You’ve been here longer than most others, after all. I’m sure you’ve been to more balls than most of the students here.”</p><p>“Nope, and I don’t think much of it either,” Cyril responded. “I’ve never been to the Ball before. At least, not as one of the guests. I’ve always either been too little or too busy to go, and I never had to talk to anyone at the Academy before I joined the Golden Deer this year. People don’t look too kindly on Almyrans, ya know?”</p><p>
  <em> That made a depressing amount of sense. Lysithea hadn’t put the pieces together until just now, but she was probably one of his first real friends. And Cyril was… he was probably the best friend she ever had. Maybe… just maybe… </em>
</p><p>“Say, Cyril,” Lysithea began, trying her best not to allow her cheeks to flush out again. The paleness of her skin made that impossible. “Balls aren’t really my thing either. I was planning on just seeing how elegantly the others could dance for a while before slipping out early. If I did, would you… want to meet up with me outside? I could find something to read to you.”</p><p>“That’s no good,” Cyril replied, shaking his head decisively.</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea felt her heart sink. </em>
</p><p>“You’ll strain your eyes if you try to read in the dark,” the boy continued. “We could just look up at the sky that night if you’d like. Lady Rhea taught me the names of some of the stars, and I think a real important one’s supposed to disappear on the night of the Ball. We could watch it go together.”</p><p>
  <em> And just like that, Lysithea’s stomach was full of butterflies again. Getting away from the Ball was her plan all along. Why was she feeling so giddy all of a sudden? </em>
</p><p>“It’s a deal!” she said confidently, holding her hand out for Cyril to shake. “By the Cathedral Bridge at the eighth bell toll. Does that work for you?”</p><p>
  <em> Why was she trying to shake his hand? She wasn’t selling him a side of beef! </em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Cyril replied, delicately gripping Lysithea’s hand and giving it a shake. “Deal! I’ll get all my chores done early that night and ask someone else to cover for me on refreshments.” </p><p>
  <em> He had rough hands for someone so young, but he could be very gentle with them when he wanted to be. </em>
</p><p>“There are going to be a lot of noble folks there anyway,” he concluded. “And most of them don’t like being served by an Almyran. You’re probably doing them a favour.”</p><p>“Quite the opposite, actually,” Lysithea replied firmly, overcoming her jitters. “I’ll be depriving them of one of the only people worth talking to here.”</p><p>“You don’t have to lay it on thick. I know I’m not so friendly.” Cyril rubbed the back of his head. “Anyway… I think I’ve stuck around for too long. I need to go back and water the horses before Hilda tries to get someone else to do it for her.”</p><p>“Oh, um… right!” the girl replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Thanks again for lunch. If you see the Professor, could you say that I’ll be back in class tomorrow?”</p><p>“Really?” the boy asked, his voice cracking slightly. “What about your head?”</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” she responded with a nod. “If we’re really looking out for each other, you can keep me smiling while I handle the books. The two of us are really quite the team, you know?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess we really are,” Cyril replied with an unmistakable tint of relief in his voice. “Be seeing ya, Lysithea.”</p><p>The boy turned to leave, and Lysithea sighed. Her head was feeling several sizes smaller than it had earlier that morning, but she had put on a brave front for her friend. There was still a faint throbbing in her skull that would likely last the rest of the day, and she was unsure of whether the worst of it was truly behind her.</p><p>“Oh, and before I forget!” Cyril called, looking back from the doorknob. “The little bag is full of pomegranate seeds from the Greenhouse. Alois got me some chocolate from the Empire, so I melted it down and dipped them all in it to make a new kind of snack.”</p><p>Lysithea quickly forgot the aching in her head when she heard the word “chocolate”, and quickly opened the bag to fish out as many of the seeds as she could pinch between her finger and thumb. Popping them into her mouth, her head was now swimming.</p><p>“They’re really good!” she exclaimed.</p><p>Cyril seemed content with that and waved her goodbye before closing the door behind him. Lysithea popped another pinch of chocolate-covered seeds into her mouth and cradled her cheeks in sheer delight.</p><p>
  <em> It was a crime that so few people truly appreciated Cyril, but he was everything she could have ever wanted in a friend. He never treated her like a child, respected her boundaries, made her laugh, rose up to meet the few things she couldn’t master easily on her own, and was as sweet as the wonderful treats he prepared for her. And in return, she… had gotten away with not telling him anything about her past and how it impacted both her present and future. She had never felt guilty about keeping this secret from any of her other friends before, so why now? Was it truly just because he confided in her earlier, or… did she have a crush? </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter kind of follows up on the first Lysithea-chapter by briefly going into the symptoms and triggers of Lysithea's migraines. If you know anything about her personal history, you probably know the implications her past has on her future. I wanted to expand on this by making the ramifications of Lysithea's past something she has to struggle with on a daily basis, demonstrating how hard this poor girl works to try to keep things together. I also wanted to continue to deepen her reciprocal bond with Cyril in a way that felt natural for both of them. Lysithea isn't the kind of person to need rescuing from anyone but herself, so this chapter presents a rare situation in which Cyril is able to temporarily pull Lysithea out of harm's way. I also want to make it plain that Lysithea's symptoms aren't cured by the "power of friendship" in this chapter; they're alleviated by it. Basically, having a good laugh and bonding with someone special is Tylenol instead of the polio vaccine. The poor thing's head is still going to hurt for a while after this encounter, but I promise she'll feel better soon! As usual, I always appreciate your comments and feedback!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cyril: Ethereal Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cyril must run a gauntlet to fulfill a promise to Lysithea, and an oath before an unexpected benefactor is made that will span the rest of their lives.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ninth month of the calendar year was usually also the clearest and the brightest as well for those residing within the bulwarks of the Central Church. Though winter had fallen upon the rest of Fódlan, one might have been forgiven for mistaking the season at Garreg Mach Monastery for autumn or even early spring. Each year at the end of the Ethereal Moon, the Officer’s Academy would organise a grand ball to celebrate the anniversary of the monastery’s completion. This entailed no small degree of preparation.</p><p>During the week leading up to the 995th Anniversary Celebration, Garreg Mach was abuzz with workers, groundskeepers, artisans, and decorators. Snow and ice had been utterly scoured from every corner of the monastery grounds, the many tables in its Reception Hall had been moved to make way for the dancefloor, and Captain Jeralt and Professor Byleth had recruited a number of trusted mercenaries to supplement the Knights of Seiros and local security forces so that the students at the Officer’s Academy could enjoy the ball in peace. To all those who banded together to make this magical night possible, the eve of the Ball itself could not have come fast enough.</p><p>
  <em> It was hard work he had done this week. Hard, but good. And now he was done. Lady Rhea said that the toils of the honest and the upright were the Goddess’s delight, and that the work of those cherished souls bathed all of Fódlan in Her divine blessing. Cyril tried his best to remember that passage when his work got tough, but he felt his body needed a bath more than his soul after all the toiling he did. </em>
</p><p>Returning to his personal quarters from the bathing chambers, Cyril looked down at his choices of evening attire. The first was the acolyte’s livery he normally wore: a loose-fitting tunic and shorts with a hemp belt and turquoise sash. The second was the Wyvern Rider’s uniform he wore into battle sans the armour, which amounted to a thick, green gambeson and a pair of tight riding breeches. And the third was what he was currently wearing: a towel wrapped high above his chest.</p><p>
  <em> At least the uniform was a change of pace. Maybe Cyril wouldn’t look too out of place when he made his way around the reception hall full of students in their nice evening wear. Maybe the people that did see him would mistake him for one of Jeralt’s mercenary friends and leave him alone. A boy could hope. </em>
</p><p>Cyril put his smallclothes on and began squeezing his feet into the tiny legs of the very tight breeches. He hated these things. Though he had gone up nearly three shoe sizes this year, he was hardly any taller than he was during the last White Heron Ball. </p><p>
  <em> Puberty was taking its time with him. </em>
</p><p>Suddenly, there came a knock at the door. Cyril had only gotten one leg into his breeches, so he had to hop awkwardly on his unclothed leg towards the door to get a look at his visitor through the peephole.</p><p>
  <em> Left? Nothing. Right? Nothing. Down the hall? Nothing. Up? What was he expecting? There was no one there. </em>
</p><p>Cyril took a risk and cracked the door open just enough to peek his head through.</p><p>
  <em> Left? Nothing. Right? Nothing. Down the… Down!  </em>
</p><p>On the ground in front of Cyril’s door was something wrapped up in brown butcher’s paper and yellow twine. The boy used his free foot to drag it inside before quickly slamming the door shut and inspecting the strange delivery. There was no card, tag, nor any kind of writing on or attached to the package, but Cyril quickly pieced together who it was from by the signature green fletching of the arrow tucked into the twine.</p><p>
  <em> Shamir had left him something! Was this for covering her duties last month? </em>
</p><p>The boy tore into the butcher’s paper, and what he saw inside dazzled him. The package contained a crisply-pressed jacket and slacks of fine black cotton, accentuated with finely-tailored trimmings and epaulettes of gold silk. Cyril had to look hard to find the seams on this uniform, and beneath the jacket and slacks were a pair of inky-black boots so expertly polished that he could see his face in them.</p><p>
  <em> This was something he’d be proud to be buried in. </em>
</p><p>Cyril kicked off the uncomfortable breeches and quickly slipped into his new clothes. His master-at-arms was well-known for her incredibly sharp eye, but even Cyril himself was surprised by how well Shamir had surmised his measurements.</p><p>
  <em> She even got his boot size right! Shamir was incredible. It was a shame she hadn’t stuck around to see him now, but he’d thank her personally when he ran into her next. </em>
</p><p>Now cleanly bathed and sharply dressed, Cyril left his little room in the servants’ ward and hurried off into the night towards the monastery’s Reception Hall. A few of the students he passed by doubletook when they saw him, and he was unsure if it was for the usual reason or whether it was his new attire.</p><p>
  <em> Like he cared what they thought. Cyril hadn’t gotten a chance to see himself in the mirror because his room didn’t have one, but he was sure the clothes Shamir got him suited him just fine. It didn’t really matter if they didn’t anyway; he had a promise to keep and only a few minutes to make it to the Cathedral Bridge on time to keep it.  </em>
</p><p>The walkway on the eastside of the monastery was the quickest route to where Cyril was headed, and the boy encountered more staring students the closer he got. He was getting self-conscious now. He had never been stared at by this many people in so short a span of time. As soon as he cleared the densest of the crowds, Cyril had made his way to the eastern terrace overlooking the Cathedral. There was just one problem.</p><p>
  <em> Was that Hubert with a girl? Cyril was sure she wasn’t Edelgard; her hair was the wrong colour and he seemed real mad with her. Wait, it was that Monica girl! She must have stepped on Edelgard’s feet during the dance. </em>
</p><p>Hubert caught sight of Cyril and stopped talking to glare at him. Cyril glared back just as fiercely, but the frightening young nobleman’s subsequent laugh was enough to send the boy in the opposite direction.</p><p>
  <em> Poor Monica. It was probably an honest mistake, but Hubert was as protective of Edelgard as he was scary. Hopefully, he wasn’t going to toss Monica over the edge of the terrace. For now, though, Cyril had to focus on getting to the Bridge fast. The bell would toll soon, so he’d just have to cut through the Reception Hall... where the ball was being held. </em>
</p><p>Pushing his way through crowds of students, Cyril made it inside the reception hall in time to see Claude take Professor Byleth by the hand and waltz onto the dancefloor. The other House Leaders had dance partners too, and the boy even managed to make out Flayn dancing with her older brother.</p><p>
  <em> That much made sense. Seteth would probably string anyone who made a move on Flayn upside-down by their toes. </em>
</p><p>“Cyril!” a girl’s voice came from nearby in the crowd. It was far too bubbly to have been Lysithea’s. “Oh. My. Gosh! You look so handsome! Would you-”</p><p>“Not right now, Hilda,” the boy refused, “I don’t have time to get ya a drink or anything.”</p><p>“Uh, rude!” Hilda replied. “I wanted to ask you for a dance. Claude’s up there with the Professor, Marianne’s impossible to peel off the wall, and I just can’t find any of the other people I hoped to dance with tonight. What do you say?”</p><p>“Not right now, Hilda,” he doubled down, squeezing past her through the crowd. “I got somewhere I gotta be!”</p><p>“Huh, you mean- Oh, I get it!” Hilda chirped teasingly. “You want to dance with someone else!”</p><p>“I don’t wanna dance at all,” Cyril insisted, unable to get any farther. “I just need to get to the other side of this room and fast. Why don’t ya go find Sylvain instead of bothering me?”</p><p>“Because, just this once, I’m going to help you,” the young woman giggled, taking the boy gently by the wrist. </p><p>“W-Wha-?” Before Cyril had time to process what happened, Hilda had yanked him cleanly from the clustered crowd of students and began spiriting him across the dancefloor by his arm. Despite her squeaky voice and how much she liked to slack off, Hilda was surprisingly strong. “S-Slow down, Hilda! I-”</p><p>
  <em> Something terrible sounded out. It was the bell tower singing its hourly prelude. </em>
</p><p>“I mean, nevermind!” Cyril yelped, quickly correcting himself. “Hurry up! Please!”</p><p>The young woman giggled as she picked up into a sprint, with Cyril now running alongside her.</p><p>
  <em> Now the bell was tolling one… </em>
</p><p>As they approached the other side of the reception hall, Cyril noticed a wall of students blocking the back entrance of the massive room. He looked to Hilda who was now wearing a devilish smirk.</p><p>
  <em> Two…  </em>
</p><p>“Okay, Cyril! This is you!” she exclaimed, taking the boy’s wrist in both hands now and spinning him in a circle around her.</p><p>
  <em> Three... </em>
</p><p>Terrified students scrambled to part down the middle of their formation as Cyril was flung towards them. While he whizzed past the ball-goers, he thought he heard Claude whoop in approval. By the time he caught his footing, he felt his heart beating in his throat. Claude had slied his way into Hilda’s arms in the meanwhile, smirking before dipping her low enough to look the bewildered young boy in the eye from upside-down.</p><p>“Have fun, Cyril~!”</p><p>
  <em> Four… Five… </em>
</p><p>As Cyril scrambled to leave the room, a collective gasp ignited the air behind. From a brief glimpse behind his shoulder, the boy saw how Claude and Hilda had replicated Cyril’s ejection from the dancefloor in a whirling “dance” punctuated by bouts of hysterical laughter.</p><p>
  <em> Six… Seven… </em>
</p><p>Cyril made it to the last door by the end of the seventh toll, pulling it open as quickly as he could muster. The sweat beads on his brow felt like ice as the cold outside air rushed in to greet him. Breathing hard and heavy now, he stepped out onto the cobblestone floor that lined the moon-drenched bridge to the Cathedral.</p><p>
  <em> Eight! </em>
</p><p>“Uh… Hey, Cyril,” came the puzzled voice of a girl.</p><p>“Hey, Lysithea,” gasped the boy, smiling as he turned to face his friend.</p><p>Lysithea smirked as she stepped up to give him a proper inspection. </p><p>
  <em> Now that he was here, Cyril realised that he hadn’t really processed why he had chosen to get dressed up in the first place. He hung out with Lysithea all the time. The ball wasn’t all that special to him, and he’d have probably made it there sooner if he just slipped into his everyday clothes. </em>
</p><p>“Well, I must say that you dressed for the occasion,” she said, impressed. “Where did you...?”</p><p>“Shamir,” Cyril answered preemptively, “or at least I think it was Shamir. Didn’t see her, but didn’t need to. She’s real up front with criticism and praise and advice and stuff, but she isn’t really the type of person to give ya something and stick around to say a nice thing to go with it.”</p><p>“I’ve heard as much from Catherine. It seems she and you are the only people at Garreg Mach who really know Shamir,” replied Lysithea, curiously reaching for his shoulder before reeling her hand back. “Oh, um, may I?”</p><p>Cyril nodded, and Lysithea wasted no time in gliding her thumb against the braided edge of his epaulette. Humming in approval, the girl gently pinched the fabric of his shirt before offering him a decisive nod.</p><p>“This is very fine material,” she added. “And so stylish too. If it were up to me, this would be the evening wear for everyone at the Officer’s Academy.” Her brow knitted when she saw his forehead. “But you’re all sweaty! Here: hold still, will you?”</p><p>Without a moment’s hesitation this time, Lysithea quickly produced a handkerchief from a pocket in her dress and began dabbing the sweat from Cyril’s face. The boy instinctively squirmed a bit in surprise, which prompted a huff from his finicky friend.</p><p>“Your sweat is going to soil your nice collar if you don’t hold still and let me get it,” she snapped, gently placing a hand on his cheek to hold him steady. “There. Stay like that. How did you get this sweaty, anyway?”</p><p>
  <em> It was hard to think of what to say with her hand on his face like this. Lysithea might have had a temper like a dragon’s, but she still had hands like a princess’s. </em>
</p><p>“I ran,” he croaked.</p><p>“You ran?” she repeated with a raised brow, still intently focused on cleaning him up in the dim light of a nearby lantern. “But you always leave enough time to never have to hurry.”</p><p>“I’d have gotten here sooner if I didn’t run into Hubert,” Cyril explained, rolling his eyes, “and later if I didn’t run into Hilda.”</p><p>“Hilda?”</p><p>“Yeah. She kinda threw me.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?!”</p><p>Lysithea released Cyril to look him up and down again. She was likely checking to see if he was injured. When she saw that he wasn’t, she folded her arms across her chest.</p><p>“Just kinda… It was more of a swing,” the boy clarified, albeit badly. “She was trying to get some people to move, but I think she coulda just asked.”</p><p>“Well… you did get here just in time,” the girl conceded reluctantly. “Though I hope you didn’t thank her for it. Doing that will only encourage her, and people don’t need to get the impression that it’s okay to toss you around.”</p><p>“I didn’t…” Cyril replied contritely. “I didn’t stop to say anything. I just wanted to make it here in time to see you.”</p><p>Lysithea smiled at that, averting her gaze and brushing a lock of hair over her left ear.</p><p>
  <em> Even in dim light, Lysithea’s pale face highlighted how nice her smile was. Maybe “braving” Hubert’s frightful glower and getting hurled like an axe by Hilda was worth the trouble. </em>
</p><p>“Say, why don’t we head down the bridge so we can see the stars?” the boy offered. “That special one is supposed to be out tonight, and I wanted to show it to you!”</p><p>The girl looked out at the darkness between where they were standing and the Cathedral, hesitated for a moment, and then nodded resolutely. She seemed more determined to go out to see the stars than she was afraid of the dark, and Cyril hoped to encourage that by keeping a slow, comfortable pace beside her as they walked down the length of the bridge together.</p><p>“Conste...nations,” Cyril began, looking up and gesturing at the stars. “They’re-”</p><p>“Conste<em>ll</em>ations,” Lysithea interrupted, unable to stop herself from correcting him. “Uh, sorry…”</p><p>“No, you’re right,” he responded, trying to own up to his mistake to mask how stupid he felt. “Conste<em>ll</em>ations. Lady Rhea says there’s one for each of the Saints and all of their people in paradise too. Those six stars in a line there are Saint Cichol’s Lance, and the ones bunched up to the left of it are Cichol himself. Saint Cethleann is right above him… there!” Excited, Cyril stopped in his tracks to bring himself very close to Lysithea, take her gently by the hand, and gesture to the constellation he had found. “Ya see her?”</p><p>Cyril heard a gulp before he got a reply.</p><p>“Yes,” the girl answered meekly, “The four stars in a tight diamond are her head, and the larger triangle below is her robes.”</p><p>
  <em> Oh. He’d made her uncomfortable, hadn’t he? Whether she was his friend or not, it wasn’t right for a commoner to touch a noble. Cyril needed to apologise. </em>
</p><p>“I-I’m sorry!” he stammered, quickly releasing her hand and backing off suddenly. “I didn’t mean to-”</p><p>“No, I’m sorry!” she responded hastily. “It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like you were making me…” Lysithea paused for barely a second before she started laughing. “Hehe, look at us! We sound like Marianne!”</p><p>Cyril laughed with her, and the two continued walking. “Hah! We do! I don’t think we’ve ever apologised to each other like that before!”</p><p>“Let’s not make a habit of it,” Lysithea responded lightly. “Besides… I liked it when you held my hand. The dark isn’t so frightening when I’m with you.”</p><p>
  <em> So he hadn’t offended her! That was good. </em>
</p><p>“Really?” he asked. “How come?”</p><p>“You... distract me,” she said with a hint of hesitation. “In a good way. Not from my studies or anything important, of course, but from things that hold me back. Like my temper or the dark.”</p><p>“Do you want me to hold your hand now?” Cyril offered politely, looking to his friend as the two continued down the bridge.</p><p>“No… I’m fine!” she answered, quickly turning her attention back up to the sky. “Look up there in the west. You can see Saint Seiros.”</p><p>“Wow, you’re right!” the boy replied. “And her Mother.”</p><p>“Her Mother?” Lysithea asked, looking back at her friend. “You must be mistaken, Cyril. There’s nothing in the library’s astrology section about the Goddess’s constellation.”</p><p>“Nope, I know I’m right,” Cyril replied definitively, his eyes still glued to the constellation. “The group of stars on her right is her Mother. Lady Rhea says Saint Seiros was always with her Mother, and I think she knows best about that. She’s the Archbishop for a reason, right?”</p><p>“If you insist,” the girl conceded. “Huh, you know: it doesn’t seem half as dark at night when there’s a sky like this above you.”</p><p>From the corner of his eye, Cyril saw Lysithea look back up at the sky and heard her let out a curious hum. They continued silently down the bridge together like this for some time, both lost in the stars while ever-aware of each other’s presence.</p><p>
  <em> Where was it? It was supposed to be out until half an hour after the eighth bell on the night of the ball, but Cyril couldn’t see it anywhere. </em>
</p><p>The further he and Lysithea walked, the harder he squinted to catch a glimpse of that promised star. He thought about giving up once they reached the Cathedral, but his stubbornness would not allow it. They circled the grounds outside of the Cathedral for a time before he saw it: a tiny, pale blue light in the night sky. </p><p><em> They hadn’t missed it after all! </em> </p><p>“There!” Cyril exclaimed, stopping abruptly. Lysithea sidled up beside him to get a view from his perspective. “See that blue one?”</p><p>“I do!” the girl answered. “That’s the Blue Sea Star, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah, the Goddess’s home…” Cyril nodded pridefully. “Pretty, right?”</p><p>
  <em> He knew his friend was very smart, but the excitement in her voice told him that she had never seen the Blue Sea Star before. She probably never looked for it before because she was afraid of the dark, and it was probably gone during the times she felt brave enough to check. That and she was always studying so dang hard! Cyril was glad to be the one to show it to her. </em>
</p><p>“Beautiful,” Lysithea replied, her eyes transfixed on the shimmering star. “You know, Cyril, I’m glad that-”</p><p>“Wait a sec, Lysithea,” the boy interrupted. “How did we end up here?”</p><p>The girl looked down from the sky as Cyril pointed to the Goddess Tower looming nearby across the narrow bridge that separated it from the northwest courtyard. While the structure itself was unimpressive when compared to the rest of the stunning monastery, there were few in Garreg Mach who did not know the history and legend associated with it.</p><p>“We must have wandered here,” spoke the girl. “There isn’t anyone around at all, is there?”</p><p>“Not that I can see,” Cyril replied, squinting to scan the shadowy courtyard. “I think we oughta go before someone sees us and gets the wrong idea.”</p><p>“I suppose you’re right,” Lysithea replied simply, turning from the path ahead. </p><p>
  <em> Cyril had expected Lysithea to be more vocal about not going anywhere near the Goddess Tower tonight of all nights. There might not have been anyone around to see them, but she was still awful scared of ghosts and the dark. The night sky wouldn’t come with them inside the tower, and besides… the only people who went into the Goddess Tower on the night of the White Heron Ball were… </em>
</p><p>“Hold on,” Cyril said, “Ya want to go in there, don’t ya?”</p><p>“No!” she denied in an accusatory tone. “Why? Do you?”</p><p>“Not really; I’ve been in there before and it isn’t too special inside,” he replied, humouring her question. “You sure seem to want to go in, though. I don’t mind walking ya over if that’s what ya want.”</p><p>Lysithea paused a moment before replying, “No, it isn’t. I enrolled at the Officer’s Academy because I have something important I need to do when I inherit House Ordelia, and this place is where I was supposed to learn how to make it all happen. I didn’t come here to waste time on frivolous things like dancing at balls, staring at stars, or testing some ridiculous myth like some air-headed little girl. I don’t have time for all of that!”</p><p>
  <em> Cyril could feel his own temper begin to flare. He was trying to be nice. Maybe he had misread Lysithea’s intent, but how could she not see that his heart was in the right place? He was just trying to be a good friend! </em>
</p><p>Then through the darkness, Cyril saw something that stopped him from snapping back at her: it was the moonlight glimmering on the tears welling up in her eyes.</p><p>
  <em> Had he said something wrong before? Or… maybe it was something she said. She didn’t have time for all of that. Time! The end of the year was coming up and graduation would be upon them soon! So she was nervous about what graduation meant too! </em>
</p><p>“Do ya have time for a friend?” he asked. “I don’t want to test the myth either, but I wouldn’t mind making a promise with you out here instead of in there.”</p><p>There was a sniffle. Then a gulp. Then a poorly contained sob. And then, whether Lysithea forgot that she had a sweat-soaked handkerchief in her pocket or because she did not want to use it, the girl wiped her eyes against the sleeve of her cleanly-pressed uniform jacket.</p><p>“W-What’s the promise?” she asked, trying hard to sound strong.</p><p>“That… um,” Cyril thought up something quick, “that no matter how far apart we are or how long it takes for us to see each other again, you and me are always going to be best friends. Uh… deal?”</p><p>He awkwardly reached out his hand for her to shake.</p><p>
  <em> She had done it earlier this month. Maybe it was the best way to be sure. </em>
</p><p>“Deal!” Lysithea exclaimed happily, taking Cyril firmly by the hand and giving him a huge shake. “With the Blue Sea Star as our witness, it’s a deal!”</p><p>“Yeah!” Cyril laughed. “Haha, I like the sound of that! We don’t need the Goddess Tower; we got Her home in the sky!”</p><p>Lysithea agreed, and the two friends watched the Blue Sea Star fade gently away before turning their backs on the Goddess Tower to make their way back together. The music in the distance was the same dull roar it had been when Cyril and Lysithea first crossed the bridge, and it would go on well into the evening long after both of them had parted ways to turn in for the night. </p><p>
  <em> It felt good to make that promise with Lysithea. Seeing her in pain hurt just about as much as anything else Cyril could imagine, and making her smile had quickly become one of his favourite things to do everyday. The boy mused to himself how right Lady Rhea was; making a friend had changed him… maybe for the better. Even though he’d miss her when she graduated and went home, he could take comfort that they’d both be able to look up at the same sky above them and remember their promise on the Blue Sea Star. And someday… maybe someday, they’d be together again to watch it come back. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is my ode to every boy's first suit, and their experiences in it. I wanted Cyril's first romp in a proper suit to be something completely outrageous and unforgettable for him, but I also wanted this little caper to continue to illustrate what a rich melting pot of personalities Garreg Mach is. Previous chapters in this fic have primarily covered NPCs, but I'm going to put greater focus on covering playable characters from here on out as well. I also wanted this chapter to demonstrate how Cyril is growing as a person since joining the Golden Deer and meeting Lysithea. He's beginning to trust and rely on others more easily, he has a little moment of m̶i̶s̶p̶l̶a̶c̶e̶d̶ sympathy for Monica, and he's even learning to make promises of his own. In short: Cyril's becoming his own person (independent of Rhea) whether he realises it or not. Finally, I wanted to actually use a little world building detail from one of Three Houses' chapter intros. I think it's important to incorporate the settings of a world into its characters' interactions, and I thought the Blue Sea Star (which is supposed to disappear during the Ethereal Moon/December and return during the Blue Sea Moon/July) would be a nice little use of 3H's world building as both a plot point and potential foreshadowing for things to expect later on. As always, I really appreciate your support! If you like this fic so far, please consider leaving it a kudos or even a comment! Thanks!</p><p>(Also: this is easily the longest chapter to date, and it's probably going to kick off the trend in length for the chapters to come.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Lysithea: Guardian Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the wake of a tragedy, Lysithea's search for the truth leads her to questions she may not want answered.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There lingered an unmistakable air of sadness at Garreg Mach Monastery that only cooler heads could adequately prevail through. Students and faculty alike poured into the Cathedral, taking their seats in the pews and bowing their heads respectfully. There would be no hymns from the organist nor any singing from the choir, and the massive building echoed only with the faint weeping and sobs of the monastery’s community. It was a day of mourning for Garreg Mach, the Knights of Seiros, and the Officer’s Academy, and nearly every resident of the monastery was present for the funeral. Seteth delivered a tasteful eulogy after a brief sermon from the Archbishop, then spoke the names of the dead.</p><p>“Abigal Eurwyn, Allison von Bragi, Brianna Raylene von Lear, George von Vidar, Mar Cedrych, Matthias Matthewson, and Winfred Hannah von Oberon,” the Archbishop’s aid recited somberly. “Children cruelly cut down in their prime. May the Goddess grant them safe passage to Her home in the heavens, and everlasting peace in the hereafter.”</p><p>Lysithea clenched her fists as Seteth went through the names of the fallen students. Her eyes stung with tears, but the girl held them off all the same. This was not a pleasant experience, but it was hardly an unfamiliar one.</p><p>
  <em> Brianna and Winfred were both lesser nobles from the Alliance, good students, and decent young women. Brianna had asked for Lysithea’s help with notes barely a month ago, and Winfred - or Winny as she was known - had bought the girl a scone from her favourite bakery in the town of Garreg Mach to celebrate the first mock battle. If they had been given the chance, either of them could have gone on to live long and happy lives. It was like burying her sisters, brother, and cousins all over again.  </em>
</p><p>A loud sob broke the air, and Lysithea looked over to the Black Eagles section to see Dorothea weeping into Edelgard’s chest. Matthias, George, and Allison were from the Black Eagles House, and the young songstress was evidently quite close with them all. The Princess stroked Dorothea’s hair to calm her down, before meeting Lysithea’s gaze.</p><p>
  <em> Edelgard looked very resolved… and very tired. Her eyes had dark circles around them, and her skin was paler than it normally was; almost as pale now as Hubert. There was something familiar about that. Had she been having migraines too? </em>
</p><p>“And Sir Jeralt Reus Eisner,” Seteth’s voice came, penetrating the relative silence. “Captain of the Knights of Seiros, Leader of the Jeralt Mercenaries, and a face fondly known around Garreg Mach. For decades, this faithful servant of the Goddess defended the innocent during his time as both a knight and a singularly upstanding mercenary. As he goes to join his beloved wife in the Goddess’s embrace, we who remain on this mortal coil offer his child, our Professor Byleth, the love and support of our entire community.”</p><p>The Professor was up at the front with Leonie. Though Jeralt’s hot-headed young apprentice had exchanged heated words with the Professor earlier that morning, their shared loss had temporarily brought them together in this moment of grief. Lysithea noted that neither of them were crying; Leonie likely to be brave for the Captain and the Professor, and Byleth because there were no more tears to shed. At least not in public. Jeralt’s death had been the first time anyone had ever seen the Professor cry, but now there was only a somber stare.</p><p>
  <em> Even this was tantamount to weeping by the Professor’s standards. Byleth had come so far since the beginning of the year, but no one wanted to see it have to come to this for an expression of such sadness. Lysithea could hardly imagine the kinds of thoughts and feelings going through the head of someone who had normally been so detached. </em>
</p><p>Seteth finished his eulogy, and everyone in the room bowed their heads for a moment of silence. When Lysithea took a peek back over to Edelgard, she suddenly noticed that Hubert was absent. The creepy young man had never seemed the type for condolences, but it seemed very disrespectful that he did not make an appearance. Lysithea bowed her head again to join the rest of the congregation in their silent contemplation.</p><p>
  <em> Maybe Lysithea could talk to Edelgard about it afterwards. At the very least, it would be an easy segue into what she really wanted to discuss. </em>
</p><p>“Thank you.” The Cathedral echoed with the rustles of students rising to the sound of Rhea’s voice. The Archbishop had taken the pulpit. “My dear students, as you know: two of the parties responsible for these wicked afronts to the Goddess came from both our faculty and our student body. In light of recent events, I have dispatched the Knights of Seiros to track down the heretics responsible for these atrocious crimes. You are all instructed to resume your regularly scheduled classes, but there will be a curfew in place until the Knights return. Any student found out of their rooms after sundown will spend the rest of their evening in the monastery’s dungeons.”</p><p>A murmur erupted from the congregation, and the Archbishop silenced it with a glare.</p><p>“We do this for your own protection,” Rhea explained sharply, the motherly intonation in her voice disappearing entirely. The students fell silent as the grave, and the Archbishop cleared her throat to continue in a far more immaculate tone. “Professor Byleth has also asked for a week to grieve, so Professors Hanneman and Manuela have agreed to assume responsibility for all three houses at the Officer’s Academy. Naturally, between this time of collective mourning and the Knights’ absence, there will be no assigned missions this month.”</p><p>Another, quieter murmur was similarly silenced when Rhea raised a hand to bless the Cathedral attendants, and Lysithea noticed that Cyril was not at the front, behind the crowd of acolytes where he normally was during Church functions.</p><p>
  <em> He wasn’t here with Rhea today of all days. That was very strange. </em>
</p><p>“Go in peace to love and serve the Goddess,” Rhea proclaimed, the melody returning to her voice once more. “Thanks be to Her.”</p><p>“We go in Her name,” the congregation responded in unison.</p><p>Rhea then invited those who wished to say their last goodbyes to the fallen to come up to the altar where eight coffins had been placed in a row and decorated with garlands of white roses and wreaths of calla lilies. Whispers had already circulated around the monastery that Professor Manuela had performed autopsies on the seven dead students, finding strange objects surgically implanted into each of them. Perhaps because of this, Jeralt’s was the only coffin open for the public to see. Unlike the deceased students who would be sent home to their families, the late-Captain would be buried with his wife here at Garreg Mach. </p><p>Lysithea rose from her pew and looked around her.</p><p>
  <em> Though she wanted to bid the Captain and her fallen classmates a final farewell, Edelgard was leaving the Cathedral without Dorothea. The two had been sweethearts at the White Heron Ball last month, so it seemed odd that the Princess would be going off alone. It was more than odd; it was downright suspicious.  </em>
</p><p>While most of her other classmates joined Professor Byleth and the other mourners at the altar, Lysithea ducked into the crowd of students and Church acolytes leaving the Cathedral. She followed Edelgard from a safe distance behind, tailing the Adrestian Princess down the bridge, past the Training Yard, by the first-floor dormitories reserved for commoners and spendthrift nobles, and…</p><p>
  <em> Shoot! Edelgard was making for the stairs! Lysithea had made it this far without drawing the Princess’s suspicion because her own room was near the bottom of the stairwell, but there was no way she’d be able to follow her discreetly now. </em>
</p><p>“Pardon me, Edelgard!” the girl called out, thinking on her feet. “Do you have a minute?”</p><p>The Princess turned from the stairwell and offered the young noble a smile.</p><p>“Of course, Lysithea,” she replied politely, doubling back to meet the girl. “What can I do for you?”</p><p>“Actually, I was hoping to help you,” Lysithea answered sincerely. “You’ve been having terrible headaches recently, haven’t you?”</p><p>“Oh… well, yes: I suppose I have,” Edelgard responded. “And if you’ve noticed, then I’m sure Claude knows already. Should I be worried about something he’s up to?”</p><p>“No,” Lysithea answered plainly, “I have no intention whatsoever of telling Claude. In truth, I was only able to tell because I’ve been having them myself. For some while now, actually.”</p><p>“Really?” the Princess asked, the polite smile vanishing from her face. “And just how long have you been having them?”</p><p>
  <em> This wasn’t going well. Lysithea had been the one with the questions, but Edelgard was the one getting all the answers. She had to keep thinking on her feet. </em>
</p><p>“Never mind that,” Lysithea replied, rummaging through her dress pocket and retrieving the bag of pomegranate seeds Cyril had given her last month. “I’d like you to try some of these.”</p><p>Edelgard raised a brow, smiling more sincerely now at the offer. “May I ask what <em> these </em>are?”</p><p>“Chocolate-dipped pomegranate seeds. Adrestian chocolate,” the girl replied, half-believing that the Imperial origin of the chocolate would somehow make them a better sell to the future Emperor of Adrestia. “They don’t help with the pain, but they never fail to put me in a better mood. I find that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”</p><p>“Wisely spoken,” the Princess responded, her smile giving way to a brief chuckle. “Heh, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. Let’s see here…” Reaching into the bag and pulling out a few of the sumptuous morsels, Edelgard inspected them briefly before taking a taste. “My, these <em> are </em> good. Thank you for sharing them with me.”</p><p>
  <em> ‘Good’ was an understatement! Edelgard’s face practically lit up just then. She must have had a sweet-tooth too. Or at the very least an appreciation of objectively good things! </em>
</p><p>“My pleasure,” Lysithea replied with a nod, hoping to turn the conversation on the Princess. “May I ask you something, Edelgard?”</p><p>“Certainly. You wanted to ask me if the headaches I’ve been having recently have anything to do with those students who lost their lives at the abandoned chapel last month, don’t you?” the Princess deftly responded. Lysithea was shocked, and her silence prompted Edelgard to continue. “The answer to your question is a yes. What happened to Allison and the others was an unacceptable outrage… an outrage that has made this month rather hard for me. You probably know about this better than anyone else here at Garreg Mach.”</p><p>
  <em> Edelgard knew. How did she piece everything together so well? Had she also been through…? No, that wasn’t possible. Edelgard was the Imperial Princess, after all, and Emperor Ionius would never have subjected her to that. But… she knew something about it. She knew about Lysithea’s two Crests, and those migraines… </em>
</p><p>“Perhaps you’d like to come up to my room to discuss it in privacy?” the Princess asked the stunned girl. “I’m sure this isn’t something you like talking about in public.”</p><p>Lysithea looked around carefully and nodded, and Edelgard gestured to the stairwell. As she proceeded ahead of the Princess, creeping suspicions and terrible dread swirled around her head like an angry wasp.</p><p>
  <em> What had Lysithea gotten herself into? Was Edelgard somehow associated with Tomas and Monica? She couldn’t have been; the Princess was so upset with what had happened to Jeralt and the students that it physically hurt her. She was definitely an ally here, but she knew Lysithea’s secret. And now… now she was going to talk about it with her in private. </em>
</p><p>As Lysithea and Edelgard ascended the stairs, the younger girl’s ears perked to attention when she heard the growl of a man’s voice from up the stairs and down the hall. She looked to the Princess behind her, and the two hurried upstairs as quickly as they could. Lysithea reached the top first, looking down the hall and noticing someone in an Officer’s Academy uniform talking down to someone much shorter than him.</p><p>“Let me make this plain,” she heard the man say. It looked and sounded like Hubert. “If I wanted him dead, I’d not have done it so carelessly in the open.”</p><p>As Lysithea squinted to see who Hubert was talking to, Edelgard pushed her way past and called out to her vassal.</p><p>“Hubert! Stand down!” the Princess ordered. The frightful young man complied without a moment’s hesitation, and backed away from the smaller figure who had been pressed up against the wall behind them. “What’s the meaning of this?”</p><p>Lysithea made her way to Edelgard’s side and saw Cyril glowering fiercely at Hubert.</p><p>“My apologies, Lady Edelgard,” the nobleman said, dipping a low, polite bow to his Princess. “I was just assuring our dear… <em> friend </em> here that he needn’t worry about my involvement with Ms. von Ochs. In fact...” Lysithea saw Hubert’s one, visible eye slither towards Cyril like a serpent. “I was about to inform him that I would like to see her dead just as much as poor, bereaved Professor Byleth would.”</p><p>Edelgard looked to Cyril and sighed.</p><p>“Cyril, was it?” the Princess asked. “I apologise for Hubert, and ask that you forgive him for any rudeness he might have shown you, but I assure you that he’s innocent in all of this.”</p><p>A tense silence befell the room. Lysithea looked to her friend and saw that he hardly looked convinced. He had not taken his eyes off of Hubert for even a moment after she and Edelgard had arrived, and Lysithea was not sure he had seen her at all by the Imperial Princess’s side.</p><p>“Cyril!” the girl called to her friend. “It’s me, Lysithea! Come here!”</p><p>The boy took his time prying his eyes away from Hubert’s back. There was a palpable amount of hatred in those eyes that Lysithea had never seen in him before. As soon as Cyril looked to her, though, all of that hatred seemed to melt away and he came along cautiously.</p><p>“My enemy’s enemy…” Cyril growled as he passed by Hubert.</p><p>“Is an enemy for another day,” the nobleman retorted, smiling wickedly. “A joke, of course. My apologies… Cyril, was it?”</p><p>“That’s enough,” Edelgard scolded her vassal, offering the young pair now beside her as polite a smile as she could muster. “I suppose I owe you an explanation about Monica von Ochs. Both of you.”</p><p>The moment Cyril made it to Lysithea’s side, the girl took her friend by the hand and held onto it as if he might fly away if she were to let him go. She was unsure now of who was holding onto who for protection’s sake.</p><p>“Monica’s disappearance was well-noted in the Empire and her father caused quite a fuss in the Imperial Court to try to find her,” the Princess began, turning her full attention to the two young friends. “A search across all of Fódlan was conducted by the Empire and the Knights of Seiros, but sadly nothing came of it. It had become evident that poor Monica was likely no longer alive, but Baron Ochs would not listen to reason. He begged my father to continue searching Fódlan for her, and I stepped in to make him a promise: if Hubert or I made contact with her while we attended the Officer’s Academy this year, we would send her home to him at once.”</p><p>“But the girl your class rescued from the Death Knight earlier obviously wasn’t her,” Hubert supplied. “I suspected as much when she first regained consciousness.” </p><p>“And ya didn’t tell Lady Rhea or any of the Knights because?” Cyril demanded.</p><p>“That would be tantamount to sending her to an untimely grave,” Hubert replied coldly. “In the very best of circumstances, <em> ‘Monica’ </em> might have been some lowborn cuckoo of a girl who hoped to sly her way into a grieving father’s comfortable nest. Despicable though that might have been, I suppose a rare wind of mercy asked me to spare the girl’s life from the death sentence Lady Rhea and the Church would have inflicted upon her. I did that wretched girl the kindness of intercepting the Church’s letters to Baron Ochs, but I assure you both: I shan’t make the mistake of being merciful again.”</p><p>Cyril had gone quiet and very still as Hubert spoke, and Lysithea looked at him worriedly. His expression was no longer as angry or as hate-filled as it had been before; he looked devastated.</p><p>
  <em> Cyril loved Rhea like a mother… maybe even like a god… but it was obvious by the look on his face that she wasn’t perfect to him. Not anymore. Maybe she hadn’t been for some time now. Making friends at the Officer’s Academy had changed him. Lysithea had seen the way Cyril had made friends with Ashe, whose own adopted father was put to death by the Archbishop and the Church earlier in the year. Rhea might have been a good person… perhaps even a great person… but now Cyril was coming to terms with the fact that Rhea wasn’t as faultless as he once thought she was. The disappointment must have been very difficult for him. </em>
</p><p>Lysithea gave Cyril’s hand a little squeeze and offered him a smile, and her friend looked up from the ground to offer back a smile of his own.</p><p>
  <em> At least she had let him know that he didn’t have to face these feelings alone. </em>
</p><p>“Aren’t we cute?” Hubert teased with a smug smile on his face. “And just what business did you have with Lady Edelgard today, Lysithea? I trust you know your room is downstairs… below her.”</p><p>“Hubert, behave,” Edelgard chided. “Lysithea and I were planning on discussing some matters between women in the privacy of my room over tea and sweet cakes. Isn’t that right, Lysithea?”</p><p>
  <em> She never said anything about sweet cakes before! </em>
</p><p>The Princess turned slightly from Hubert to smile discreetly at the girl, and Lysithea managed a nervous nod in response. Edelgard had used Lysithea’s fondness for sweets to bait a reaction out of her, and that reaction helped sell the fib to Hubert and Cyril.</p><p>
  <em> There was no mistaking it: Edelgard knew exactly what she was doing. Lysithea could tell that the Princess was well-accustomed to thinking on her feet in unexpected situations. Claude may have been an excellent proactive strategist, but it was clear that Edelgard was in a league of her own as a reactive planner. If it wasn’t for Professor Byleth’s similarly reactive mind for strategy, Lysithea was now convinced that the Golden Deer would not have been able to win the Battle of the Eagle and Lion some while back. </em>
</p><p>“You have my sincere apologies for the interruption,” Hubert replied with surprising earnesty. “Though I must advise against it for today; Her Highness needs her rest and clear water instead of anything caffeinated. With dangerous characters about, we must all be at our sharpest.”</p><p>“Agreed,” Edelgard responded. “Perhaps we could have that chat once ‘Monica’ and ‘Tomas’ have been dealt with?”</p><p>“Right,” Lysithea answered simply. “I think that’s for the best, especially with the curfew in order.”</p><p>“Curfew?” Hubert asked, grimacing at the sound of the word. “That seems a bit… unnecessary of Lady Rhea.”</p><p>“No, I don’t think it’s unnecessary at all,” Cyril added in, a hint of pride swelling in his voice. “I think Lady Rhea’s right on this one. Monica and our other enemies won’t come after us again unless they can do it somewhere hard to see. Ya said it yourself, Hubert: it was pretty dumb to do what she did in the open.”</p><p>
  <em> It was good to see Cyril taking back some of his regular confidence. </em>
</p><p>“My, aren’t we full of surprises?” the nobleman sighed, raising a brow disdainfully. “You’re right, of course, but I’d caution you against thinking the light as your sanctuary from those who slither in the dark. As ‘Monica’ and the librarian have proved, the easiest place for an enemy to hide is in plain sight.”</p><p>Edelgard hummed in agreement with her vassal, then turned her attention squarely to Cyril and Lysithea. </p><p>“I’m sure either the Knights of Seiros or your professor will make a move on them soon,” she told the pair, “but if Professor Byleth is the one to make contact first, then please promise me that neither of you will hold anything back. These people aren’t who they said they were; they’re responsible for what happened in Remire and at the abandoned chapel. If you give them the chance, they will kill you and escape to commit more heinous acts later on.”</p><p>
  <em> There was purpose behind Edelgard’s words; Lysithea just knew it. The Princess brought up Remire and the chapel almost explicitly for her to hear. Why, though? Was this Edelgard’s way of linking them to what she had hoped to talk to her about in her room? If that was true, it meant that Monica or Tomas was somehow involved in… </em>
</p><p>“Tomas was always real nice to everyone and he never treated me bad because of where I came from,” Cyril replied, looking up into Edelgard’s eyes resolutely, “but nice isn’t the same as good. If he’s working with Monica to try to hurt Lady Rhea or anyone else at the monastery, he’s just another enemy to me.”</p><p>“I’ll be cautious, but I won’t hesitate when the time comes,” Lysithea responded, still clutching her friend’s hand. “These people and their allies can’t be allowed to continue their work.”</p><p>Edelgard seemed satisfied with their answers, nodding and bidding the pair goodbye for the day before retiring with Hubert. The encounter between these four people had been strange, tense, and eerily enlightening, but Cyril had held Lysithea’s hand without complaint the entire time he was there beside her. Even as the pair descended the stairs together, he did not let go.</p><p>“Are ya okay?” the boy asked as soon as they reached the door to her dorm room. “I know talking about… um, the librarian is hard for ya, but that was something else, huh?”</p><p>Lysithea nodded, glancing briefly at their hands and smiling at Cyril.</p><p>“I told you before that I don’t feel so frightened when you hold my hand,” the girl responded gratefully before clearing her throat and assuming her regular tone with him. “Thank you for that. Now… um, you can let me go.”</p><p>“Hey, you’re the one who rescued me!” Cyril teasingly accused, releasing her hand. “I thought Hubert was gonna kill me when I snuck up on him like that.”</p><p>“Hehe, I thought so too when I saw him looming over you the way he did,” she laughed. “I suppose it’s a good thing you and I are always looking out for each other.”</p><p>“Hah, even when we don’t mean to,” he chuckled in response before sighing guiltily. “Y’know, Lysithea: I feel real bad about missing the funeral today, especially for the Professor. I was so sure I was onto something with Hubert that I had to get him alone. Ya probably think that was stupid of me, don’t ya?”</p><p>“Only that you went in alone,” Lysithea replied. “I think there’s much more going on than either of us by ourselves can tell at the moment. If we’re going to get to the bottom of it, we’ll need to work with the Professor and the others.”</p><p>“Right,” Cyril agreed, still looking contrite. “Those monsters that the students turned into… they looked just like the one Sylvain’s brother turned into a while back. I think whatever’s going on is bigger than Hubert or Edelgard, or even Monica and…” </p><p>“Solon,” the girl said plainly. “We’re going to have to confront him someday, so I need to get used to saying his name. For all we know, Cyril, Tomas was just another innocent victim like the real Monica. We know that wasn’t her now, and… we have to accept what those people did if we’re going to try to figure out what they might do next.”</p><p>Cyril did not respond with much more than a smile, and Lysithea scrunched her face up at her friend suspiciously.</p><p>“And just what is that for?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “You look as though I’ve said something funny to you.”</p><p>“Oh… uh, no. It’s nothing like that,” Cyril replied. “I’m just proud of ya, is all. You’re less mad than ya were last month… like you’re ready. Seeing ya like this makes me ready too. Even if today’s supposed to be a sad one, knowing you’re okay makes me feel a little better.”</p><p>
  <em> There he went being sweet again. It was always so disarming coming from a boy she would always associate the word ‘prickly’ with, but he was her best friend for a reason. </em>
</p><p>“You know, Cyril, Professor Byleth is going to be out for the week,” Lysithea told him. “That means Professor Hanneman will likely be covering our material on battlefield strategy and troop formations instead.”</p><p>Half-pretending to be upset by the news, Cyril rolled his eyes. “Ugh, that means half the class won’t be able to understand what he’s saying, while everyone else will be asleep.”</p><p>“Not us, though,” she said proudly. “I’m going to read the material to you ahead of time today so we both know what to expect.”</p><p>“Oh, I’d like that,” he responded. “Lady Rhea told me last night that the curfew doesn’t apply to me because I work here and all, so maybe I can bring ya some dinner after I’m done with my chores for today.”</p><p>“Yes please!” the girl practically shouted. “I hadn’t really considered how dinner was going to work, but you’d be giving me so much more freedom this afternoon if you did.”</p><p>“Okay! I’ll see ya later, then, Lysithea!” Cyril replied, offering her one last smile before heading off. “Thanks again for rescuing me!”</p><p>“You rescued me too, you know!” she called back to him, waving her friend goodbye for the time being. Lysithea saw Cyril laugh to himself as he went away, and she could hardly resist the urge to laugh quietly to herself as well.</p><p>
  <em> Cyril had a point: this month had started terribly, but it wasn’t beyond salvaging. Lysithea realised that this tragedy had brought the monastery community together as it seldom been before. Between her best friend’s encouragement, her classmates’ support, and even Edelgard’s assurance, Lysithea was determined to never again let her painful past sway how she felt in the present. The enemy was near and everyone would have to be very cautious, but if ‘Monica’, Solon, and their mysterious allies could be defeated, then maybe… maybe Lysithea could go to her grave someday knowing that she had helped put an end to their twisted deeds once and for all. There may not have been a lot of time ahead of her, but she would make every moment she had left truly count for something. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>With the calendar year drawing to a close, I wanted this chapter to be the point where plot and conflict of Three Houses really starts to bleed into the lives of the all the characters in this fic. As such, this chapter is really where we start to feel the beginning of the end for Cyril and Lysithea's days at the Academy. Though these two characters are obviously very fond of each other, they go about searching for the truth in very different ways which kind of foreshadows the different directions they're both about to be forced into taking. Even still, I wanted this chapter to highlight and humanise some key players for the chapters to come. Probably the most important is Edelgard, whose unique relationship with Lysithea doesn't really get to be explored outside of the Black Eagles path of 3H. I wanted her to seem charming, competent, compassionate, and dangerous to Lysithea, and I wanted these qualities to endear her to our leading lady. I also had a deliciously good time making Hubert as curt and cunning as possible, while showcasing his ability to lie with the truth. I wanted the set up with him and Monica from the last chapter to go somewhere, so it felt his altercation with Cyril was the perfect conclusion to this. Finally, I wanted this chapter to really demonstrate the development Lysithea and Cyril are going through, and how even they are starting to take note of it in each other. Cyril's emotional growth has been pretty obvious so far (though he's still a prickly, little mama's-boy), but I wanted him to grow morally as well. To make it short: learning that your heroes or your parents aren't perfect sucks. For Lysithea, this chapter is her first step out of the shadows of her past. She's sick of letting what happened to her control her, and she's taking back that control to become a more optimistic (slightly less snappy) young woman. </p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it! This has been a real passion project for me, and I want to share it with anyone who'll read it!</p><p>(And an extra shout out to my friends Who, Hanna, George, Ray, Allison, Matt, Brianna, Abigal, and Sage who volunteered to have dead kids named after them!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Cyril: Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With momentous events on the near horizon, Cyril joins the Golden Deer in celebrating a very special birthday.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There lingered an unrecognisable air of mirth at Garreg Mach Monastery that only cooler heads could adequately navigate. As the penultimate month of the year drew to a close, students at the Officer’s Academy clamoured to prepare for their final rounds of examinations, while clerics from across Fódlan poured into the monastery to prepare for a special advent at the Holy Tomb of the Goddess. The ceremony was to be the first of its kind since the legendary Saint Seiros received a divine revelation from the Goddess over a thousand years ago, and it positively eclipsed every other aspect of life at Garreg Mach Monastery. </p><p>“Thank you, Cyril,” the Archbishop said, not turning from her vanity mirror as she continued to fix her hair. Though Cyril had arrived at the time he normally did to bring Rhea her breakfast, she was already up and had little time for him now. “On my desk in the corner, please.”</p><p>Cyril did as he was bade, and offered the Archbishop a smile in the mirror. She acknowledged him with a brief smile of her own before nodding to dismiss him from her quarters. This had been the trend since the incident at the Sealed Forest, but Cyril was hardly used to it.</p><p>“Have a good day, Lady Rhea,” the boy said, closing the door behind him. Cyril knew better than to wait for her to say it back to him, though he certainly hoped she would.</p><p>
  <em> Things would go back to normal once the Professor was done with the ceremony tomorrow. They just had to. Cyril would get to see Lady Rhea just as she woke up again. She would make space for him on her bed, they’d share toast and eggs in the morning sun, and she’d ask about his day just like she always used to. It was just one more day away. </em>
</p><p>Last month’s impromptu mission had been more than anyone at Garreg Mach might have bargained for, least of all Professor Byleth. Though Solon, Kronya, and most of their murderous allies had been killed in the fighting that broke out in the Sealed Forest, Byleth came out of the ordeal quite literally glowing with the Progenitor God’s power.</p><p>
  <em> At the very least, Cyril would be able to spend time with Lysithea and the rest of the Golden Deer today. He might have gotten frustrated with Claude from time to time, but that schemer really did know how to scheme up a perfect birthday party. He even woke up early this morning to help Cyril pick Lysithea’s cake up from the bakery in town. And Lysithea… she was probably getting ready for class now. There weren’t many of these days left. </em>
</p><p>Though the ceremony at the Holy Tomb was certainly the talk of the town, graduation was just around the corner for students at the Officer’s Academy. It had been a strange year marred by tragedy and confusion, but Cyril could hardly recall a better year of his life. He had made friends, gotten a taste of academia, fought to protect Rhea, overcame enemies, and even made a promise that helped him feel excited for his future for the first time in his life. And as Cyril descended the stairs from the Archbishop’s quarters, he no longer looked for the glares the guards on watch would still pass him; his attention was out the windows and into the courtyards. He wanted to see as many of the students he had come to know as he could before they all parted ways. </p><p>
  <em> Marianne was in the sun today, smiling at the birds that fluttered from tree to tree. The circles under her eyes were getting less and less obvious. Lorenz guessed that she had been getting more sleep, but people only got eyes like that from crying. It was good to know that she wasn’t feeling as sad as she normally was. It looked like Dedue was out there too. He was probably making his way to the Greenhouse. The flowers he grew there were the prettiest anyone at the monastery had ever seen, but the quiet giant insisted that the ones in Duscur put them all to shame. </em>
</p><p>Cyril stopped and squinted to make out a figure in the distance. </p><p>
  <em> Was that Ferdinand? It had to have been. No one else at Garreg Mach walked with such confidence. He must have gone for a nice ride out into town to pick up some of those fancy teas he liked to drink so much. With Edelgard and Hubert out of the monastery for most of the month, Ferdinand probably had no one left to bother with his ‘superior noble’ stuff... except Linhardt... and maybe Caspar… and Lorenz, who probably enjoyed those talks. </em>
</p><p>“Practicing your aim again?” came a voice from behind, interrupting Cyril’s quiet moment of observation.</p><p>“Hey, Shamir,” the boy replied, not needing to turn around to know his mentor’s voice. “Not really. I guess I’m just taking everything in today.”</p><p>“That’s new for you,” responded the knight, noiselessly drawing a few paces closer. Even in casual conversation, Shamir’s footsteps were as silent as shadows. “What do you see?”</p><p>“People, I guess,” Cyril answered with a shrug. “People I know. Some of them are people I like okay, and some of them aren’t, but I was thinking…” He paused. “They’re probably never gonna be together like this again, aren’t they?”</p><p>“Probably not,” Shamir said bluntly. “But there’s only one guarantee in life.”</p><p>“What’s that?” he asked, turning to look up at the knight.</p><p>“Change,” she plainly stated. “We’re born. We live. We die. Life is a cycle of changes. I met you about three years ago. You were new here, and you followed after Rhea like a puppy. After you insisted I teach you archery, you’d spend afternoons like this looking out of windows to practice your aim with that fake bow I gave you. Back then, you were satisfied just thinking about protecting Rhea. You were still her puppy.”</p><p>
  <em> Shamir’s words stung in a way they might not have at the beginning of the year.  </em>
</p><p>“And now I’m not?” the boy asked pensively.</p><p>“Less so than before,” she answered. “You’re starting to realise that you can’t follow after her like you used to, and you found your own pack somewhere along the way. They may be a temporary pack, but they’ve been one that’s given you a taste of what it’s like to be an equal. The people you’re looking out at aren’t targets anymore. When they go next month, you’ll have to start thinking about whether you want to belong to someone, with someone, or whether you’d prefer to be alone again.”</p><p>The boy did not respond beyond turning his gaze to the cobblestone floor beneath his feet.</p><p>
  <em> Cyril never wanted to be alone again. He hadn’t been truly alone since before Lady Rhea brought him to Garreg Mach from the Locket, or at least… he had convinced himself that he wasn’t alone once he had gotten here. Lady Rhea treated him better than anyone had before, but he never pretended that he was her equal. Even in his thoughts, Cyril still prefaced her name with ‘Lady’. Did he belong to her? And… was that a bad thing? </em>
</p><p>“Listen: I didn’t come here to give you life advice,” Shamir said, breaking the silence. “I came here to tell you that you need to get to class. It’s likely that Claude has another ridiculous birthday ambush planned, so you’ll want to give your friend that present you made her before he spoils her day.”</p><p>“What?!” the boy gasped. “How did ya know that I made-?”</p><p>“It’s right there,” the knight stated, pointing at the crudely-made envelope tucked clumsily into Cyril’s sash. “You should have asked Seteth for a proper envelope, and you should probably also stop wasting time.” </p><p>Flustered, Cyril looked out the window again to see that Marianne was no longer basking in the sun with her birds. The tenth bell of the morning would be sounding out soon, and Lysithea was always five minutes early to class. He had about half that time to beat her there.</p><p>“R-Right!” Cyril stuttered, nearly tripping as he bolted down the stairs. “Thanks, Shamir! I’ll think about what ya said, promise!”</p><p>“Don’t think. Move,” Shamir called back, her voice echoing down the length of the stairwell. “Your friend is faster than she looks, and the enemy won’t give you the courtesy of a wakeup call on the battlefield.”</p><p>
  <em> Was keeping him delayed her idea of a lesson? Shamir might have been a harsh teacher, but she was right as usual. Cyril had been letting his guard down since the Battle at the Sealed Forest, and he hadn’t been getting much faster on foot since passing his Wyvern Rider’s exam. He would really have to hurry if he was going to get there on time. </em>
</p><p>Sprinting as quickly as his legs could carry him, Cyril raced down the stairs and out into the courtyard in front of the Officer’s Academy. As he ran, he could feel his brow begin to moisten with sweat. He cursed the Golden Deer’s homeroom for being the farthest south. As soon as Cyril reached the lecture hall, he peered through the window to see the curtains drawn and the lights out.</p><p>
  <em> There was going to be a birthday ambush, all right. That meant he had made it here before Lysithea did. He hadn’t been too slow after all! </em>
</p><p>As if on cue, Cyril looked south and spotted his best friend heading to class from the dormitories. By the quickness of her pace, he could tell that Lysithea had not fully processed what awaited her in the darkened lecture hall.</p><p>
  <em> It was a good thing she had him looking out for her. </em>
</p><p>“Good morning, Cyril,” Lysithea greeted as her friend walked up to meet her halfway down the walkway.</p><p>“Hey, Lysithea,” Cyril said back, offering her the shoddy little envelope he made. “Happy birthday.”</p><p>“How thoughtful! Thank you,” the girl replied gratefully, unfazed by the sloppiness of Cyril’s handiwork. “May I ask you what’s inside?”</p><p>“Later,” Cyril replied hastily. “I’m not the only one who remembered your birthday; the classroom is all dark inside. Ya know what that means, right?”</p><p>“Ugh, Claude,” Lysithea groaned. “I can already see how this is going to happen: I’m going to wander into that room, everyone will shout ‘surprise’, and I’ll still get shocked because of how dark it is in there. Maybe I should hit that idiot with a fireball when I see him.”</p><p>“Maybe,” the boy responded, clearly amused by the idea of watching Hilda try to help Claude douse his flaming cape, “but I think I got a better idea. You remember how we were supposed to have a quiz on offensive manoeuvres today, right?”</p><p>Lysithea raised a brow and smiled deviously. “I like where this is going. What did you have in mind?”</p><p>“A bait-and-switch attack,” Cyril answered, smirking along with her. As he explained the details of his plan, he could see that Lysithea clearly thought it was brilliant. “...All ya gotta do after that is just walk in and rub Claude’s nose in it.”</p><p>“Simple, easy, and brutally efficient. I take back what I said before,” Lysithea replied, now grinning in devilish anticipation. “I <em> love </em>where this is going. Let’s get started, shall we?”</p><p>Cyril nodded and the two friends made their way to the double doors leading into the Golden Deer’s lecture hall. They both took a moment to shake themselves out to prepare their ruse, and Lysithea cleared her throat before beginning.</p><p>“Pincer, spearhead, encirclement…” the girl recited as if she were preparing for the quiz her class was promised for the day. Lysithea may not have been a very good liar, but she was an excellent student. “Hammer-and-anvil, three-pronged, wedge, and…”</p><p>At the signal, Cyril pulled open the door and stepped into the darkness of the lecture hall.</p><p>“Surprise!”</p><p>In one swift motion, the window curtains were pulled back and the lanterns were ignited, revealing the entirety of the Golden Deer House spread out around the room. The students from the Alliance and Professor Byleth stood at the center of the lecture hall, circled around a magnificent white cake topped with glistening strawberries. Cyril stood in the middle of it all, looking as innocent and shocked as he possibly could.</p><p>“Oh shoot, Cyril?” Claude groaned, turning on a heel and motioning to the others. “All right, everyone, back to your pla-”</p><p>“Bait-and-switch,” Lysithea interrupted, making no attempt to hide her satisfaction with how the plan turned out as she entered the room. “My, my. Is all of this for me?”</p><p>“It sure is!” Caspar cried out joyfully as Linhardt beside him buried his face in his palm.</p><p>“Surprise!” Raphael shouted, prompting a groan from Lorenz (and an echoed ‘Surprise!’ from Caspar).</p><p>
  <em> The look on Claude’s face was priceless. Leicester’s most promising strategist had been outwitted by a sixteen year-old girl and an illiterate orphan from Almyra. If this had been a battle, Cyril was sure that bards would be singing his name forever. </em>
</p><p>“All right,” Claude sighed, recomposing himself. “I concede defeat. Happy birthday, Lysithea.”</p><p>“Happy birthday, Lysithea!” the class roared in unison.</p><p>“Thank you, everyone,” Lysithea replied, dipping herself in a modest curtsy. “Oh, and Claude: I want you to know that this is definitive proof that I’m not half the child you make me out to be.”</p><p>The lord rolled his eyes and laughed.</p><p>“Haha, all right. Who am I to disagree with the birthday g-” Catching a glimpse of the fire in the <em> birthday girl’s </em> eyes, Claude cleared his throat to correct himself. “I mean, who am I to disagree with the birthday <em> lady? </em>This is your party, after all.”</p><p>Cyril smiled as the exchange unfolded, and soon found himself laughing with the rest of the class as it came to a head. Though he never admitted it to anyone before, Cyril had grown to enjoy the parties that Claude threw. The unusual heir to House Reigan regularly put his silver tongue to good use in convincing the Professor to postpone lectures in the event of a student's birthday. Claude also spent an inordinate amount of time studying his classmates, so the food served at his parties were always the birthday person’s favourites. And the dances he insisted nearly everyone participated in were like nothing Cyril had ever seen in Fódlan. They were far more lively and much less intimate than Fódlan ballroom dancing, almost reminiscent of the kinds of wild dances Cyril recalled from Almyra. </p><p>
  <em> Cyril wouldn’t be surprised if Claude was secretly part Almyran. Though he had the green eyes and sharp features of a young man from Fódlan, his skin was slightly darker than the rest of his classmates’ and his hair was much wavier too. Maybe that was why he had been so curious about Cyril’s experience as an Almyran immigrant. Maybe he was looking for someone he could talk about home with. If that was the case, he was barking up the wrong tree; Cyril belonged in Almyra just about as much as he belonged in Fódlan… and maybe that was why he enjoyed Claude’s parties so much. They were somewhere in the middle of the two places… without being anywhere near the Locket.  </em>
</p><p>Well into the party as the cake was being served, Cyril found himself growing tired. As fun as this might have been, it was also quite draining. And while most of the others were up and dancing or helping themselves to the refreshments, Cyril noticed that the only person on their own was Marianne. Even Claude knew better than to force the quiet young woman to dance with the others, but she did tell Hilda once that she liked watching them all. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to see if he could find a moment’s peace.</p><p>“Hey, Marianne,” Cyril said, offering the noblewoman a polite smile. “Can I sit here with ya?”</p><p>“Oh... hello, Cyril,” she replied, standing up from her seat. “Here you are: you can have this table to yourself. I’m sorry for selfishly occupying it for so long.”</p><p>“What are ya talking about, Marianne?” the boy asked. “We can sit together, can’t we?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologised again, turning to avert her gaze. “You don’t want to sit with me. I’m terrible company, and-”</p><p>“Ya need to stop apologising all the time, Marianne,” the boy interrupted bluntly. “If ya don’t, then it won’t count for much when ya have something real important to say you’re sorry for.”</p><p>“I… suppose you’re right,” Marianne replied, trying hard not to sound too contrite. “But everything I do makes things-”</p><p>“Nah-ah,” Cyril interrupted again. “Ya looked real happy with those birds earlier today, and they didn’t seem bothered by you at all. The horses are the same; I actually think they like ya. Y’know: you’re a lot less trouble to others than ya think ya are, Marianne. I hope ya recognise that someday.”</p><p>“I’m… uh, you’re…”</p><p>Cyril could tell how difficult it was for Marianne to accept that she could do anything right, so he just smiled at her again and quietly took a seat on the opposite end of the bench from her. Nobody at the monastery knew Marianne very well, but Cyril felt like he had felt similarly useless some while back. A suspicion in the back of his mind told him that Shamir had been onto something. That these people were as much Cyril’s family as Rhea was, and that he would miss them when they were gone.</p><p>
  <em> And Lysithea… he’d miss her the most. He’d miss the way she read for him, the way they’d look out for each other all the time, and that nice smile of hers that the rest of her friends probably adored. He’d even miss the way her temper flared; it made him feel like he could be mad or rude too and not be discarded for it. </em>
</p><p>When the midday bell began to toll, Professor Byleth asked the students of the Golden Deer House to clean up, say their goodbyes for the day, and head out to catch up on their training and fulfill their weekly objectives. Marianne was among those who left as quickly as they could, thanking Cyril for his company and resolving to spend the rest of the afternoon tending to the horses. Claude, Hilda, and Professor Byleth were among the last to leave, with the former already formulating plans to secure the Holy Tomb tomorrow in the event that the mysterious Flame Emperor tried to make an appearance. This simply left Cyril to sweep up what the students left behind, and Lysithea who insisted that she could keep her friend company as she flipped through a grimoire of advanced spells.</p><p>“You took that surprisingly well,” Lysithea remarked, sitting on a tabletop to allow Cyril easier access to the floors. “You normally hate letting others clean up for you.”</p><p>“Oh, I do,” Cyril responded, brushing together a pile of dust and litter. “I just didn’t wanna mess up the Professor’s plan. Ya saw how that worked out, right?”</p><p>“It was pretty clever,” she replied. “Using small unit formations to handle the bulk of the mess. I’ll bet most of them didn’t realise that the Professor had them running drills on their day off.”</p><p>“Probably not,” added the boy, sweeping a soiled napkin out from beneath a nearby shelf, “but they still need practice. Little messes that get left behind like this are part of why I like to do my own work.”</p><p>“Not everyone can be as thorough as you, Cyril,” the girl mused aloud.</p><p>“I know,” he sighed jokingly, “but it’d be nice if they were at least a little of the way there.”</p><p>“I agree,” Lysithea replied, looking up at Cyril from her book. “It would be nice. You’re the hardest-working and most reliable person I know, and… I am going to miss you.”</p><p>Cyril stopped sweeping and looked over to Lysithea to see if she was kidding or embellishing the truth at all.</p><p>
  <em> She wasn’t. He knew what she looked like when she lied. </em>
</p><p>“...I’m gonna miss ya too, Lysithea,” he responded, unsure of what more to say. “You’re smart and dependable and ya work just as hard as me. Maybe even harder. And…”</p><p>He paused, remembering something Rhea told him months ago.</p><p>“I think I’m a better person because of ya,” Cyril said absently. “I’m… not so sure what I’m gonna do when you and everyone else go next month.”</p><p>
  <em> If the ceremony at the Holy Tomb went the way Lady Rhea wanted it to go this month, it dawned on Cyril that she probably wouldn’t have time for him like she used to anymore. Professor Byleth was the special one, and Cyril was just… Cyril. </em>
</p><p>Lysithea put her book down. “You could ask for a sabbatical. Maybe see a bit more of Fódlan?”</p><p>“Sabbati-what?” Cyril asked, snapping out of his own thoughts. “Ya mean like a... break to go travel, right? I don’t know… the Professor said something like that a while back, but I gotta stay here and repay my debt to Lady Rhea.” A quick sigh followed. “Besides, where in Fódlan would I even wanna go?”</p><p>“Cyril, do I have to spell it out for you?” Lysithea pouted, sliding off the table she was sitting on. “Ordelia Territory. I want you to come visit me, while I settle my family’s affairs. Our home is right on the Airmid River, making it the closest seat in the Alliance to Garreg Mach. Getting there and back again would hardly take very long at all, especially on that wyvern of yours.”</p><p>“I guess that does sound nice,” the boy replied, hesitation heavy in his voice. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea. What if your parents don’t like me because-”</p><p>“Nonsense,” interrupted the girl. “They already like you. I’ve…” Lysithea paused suddenly, brushing a lock of hair over her ear and averting her gaze before clearing her throat to continue. “...I’ve written to them about you. Quite a bit, actually.”</p><p>“Really?” he asked. “But why me? Yeah, we’re best friends, but you’re also friends with the Imperial Princess and the future Leader of the Alliance. Wouldn’t they rather hear about people like that?”</p><p>“As a matter of fact: no,” Lysithea answered, drawing near. “My parents have had their fill of nobility and everything it entails, and they would much rather hear about my closest friend. About you, Cyril.” </p><p>
  <em> It made sense that someone as special as Lysithea had kind parents, but being kind wasn’t always safe for nobles. By the way she spoke of nobility, her parents probably knew that very well already. </em>
</p><p>“I’m real grateful, Lysithea,” he said, “but I don’t wanna put you or your parents in a tough situation. Whether I like it or not, I’m Almyran. Even here at Garreg Mach with Lady Rhea watching out for me, people look at me funny. Outside of the monastery is… different. I’m used to it.”</p><p>“Well, you shouldn’t be,” interjected the girl bitterly. “I can’t stand the way those people look at you, and it’s people like them that govern half the world or more. Ugh, it’s infuriating! We made a promise to be best friends no matter what, and I refuse to hide that from anyone. If some idiots in the Church, the Alliance, or anywhere else in Fódlan can’t accept that, they’re either going to have to learn to live with it or answer to me!”</p><p>
  <em> That was that. If Cyril tried to offer up any further protest, he’d probably have to answer to Lysithea too. That was… if he wanted to. They made a good team on the battlefield and in the classroom, and he liked the idea of knocking some sense into a few closed-minded jerks. </em>
</p><p>Cyril put aside his broom and walked up to offer his hand to his friend.</p><p>“Okay, Lysithea,” he said earnestly. “If I can get some time off, I’ll come over to visit ya. Deal?”</p><p>“Deal!”</p><p>Instead of shaking his hand like she normally did whenever they made a promise together, Lysithea did something else entirely. Slipping by his outstretched hand, Lysithea wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his shoulder, and gave him a squeeze. Cyril was not quite sure what to do initially, but he eventually settled into the embrace and gave her back a pat. </p><p>
  <em> This was the first time a girl around his age had given him a hug… and it wasn’t so bad. Lady Rhea had given Cyril plenty of hugs in the past and he was sure his mother hugged him plenty too when she was still around, but hugging Lysithea felt… different. Maybe it was because she was just his height and much more slight. How did a girl who ate so many sweets stay so skinny anyway? </em>
</p><p>“Hey, Cyril?” she asked, her voice muffled slightly by his tunic.</p><p>“Hey, Lysithea,” he supplied cheekily.</p><p>The girl laughed into his shoulder before pulling back a bit. “About that envelope you gave me earlier… You’re still not able to read or write on your own, right?”</p><p>“Nope,” Cyril answered. “I think I got some of the letters down and can follow along with ya okay, but it’s better for me when I can hear it.”</p><p>“I see,” Lysithea replied with a hum. “I’ll have to teach you properly when you come by to visit. There never seems to be enough time, and I won’t always be around to read for you.”</p><p>“Yeah… you’re right. Guess I’ll try real hard to remember all I can between now and then,” he responded. “By the way, do ya wanna open up that envelope? I didn’t write anything down on what’s inside, but I think it’s still plenty special.”</p><p>“May I?” she asked.</p><p>Cyril nodded, and Lysithea released him to fish the parcel out from her pocket. Though he had intended the envelope itself to be disposable, his friend opened it very delicately as if she hoped to save it. And when she reached inside to withdraw its contents, Cyril smiled to see the surprise in Lysithea’s eyes.</p><p>“Wow, this is a far cry from your packaging,” said the girl, inspecting the crisply-cut strip of decorated parchment paper in the light. “Oh, and it’s covered in little flowers. Are those real? When did you learn to press them so neatly?”</p><p>“Look on the back!” Cyril requested excitedly. “There’s a little white lily on the back for ya. They’re your favourite, right?”</p><p>“They are,” she returned, beaming. “You made this for me as a bookmark, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Yup,” the boy answered proudly. “I know ya read real fast when it’s just you, but maybe you can use it after ya graduate. I’m sure there are lots of good books out there worth taking your time on.”</p><p>“Cyril, you have no idea,” Lysithea stated, smiling wide. “Reading isn’t just important for work or school related things, you know. The books on tactics and fighting the Professor has us read are all well and good, but they scarcely scratch the surface of the kinds of books out there. In the best of them, you’ll gain new insights and perspectives, learn things you wish you had known sooner, and explore distant nations or even worlds from the comfort of wherever you please at whatever pace pleases you. That’s the magic of books, Cyril: you can travel across time and space without ever having to move your feet.”</p><p>
  <em> There was something special about Lysithea when she talked about something she was enthusiastic about. Her face lit up in just the same way as it did when she had something nice to eat, but there was a strength behind her voice that really sold the topic’s importance. Lady Rhea’s sermons were a bit like that and each of the House Leaders could definitely give rousing speeches, but none of them seemed to have the same kind of fire that Lysithea did.  </em>
</p><p>“Wow,” Cyril marvelled. “And ya really think I can learn to read those kinds of books too?”</p><p>“Absolutely,” she replied confidently. “I meant it when I said that you were a hard worker. There’s no way someone as focused as you should have much trouble at all, and I hardly mind taking the time aside to teach you. This bookmark you made will be especially helpful when we read through all kinds of things together.”</p><p>“Guess I got no choice now,” the boy responded with a shrug. “I gotta ask Lady Rhea for a sabbati- sabataba-”</p><p>“Sabbatical,” Lysithea corrected, trying hard not to laugh.</p><p>“Right! One of those,” Cyril said, rubbing the back of his head. “Guess I got a lot to learn, huh?”</p><p>“Perhaps,” the girl answered, “but I can’t think of someone better equipped to learn it.”</p><p>The two friends shared a laugh and talked well into the afternoon together. By the time Cyril locked up the classroom, it was suppertime at the Dining Hall. As she always did, Lysithea made good on her word to never hide their friendship by insisting that he sit next her among the rest of the Golden Deer. With the Revelation Ceremony at the Holy Tomb looming on the morrow and graduation quickly creeping up on them, the students from the Officer’s Academy spoke loudly of where their futures might take them next. </p><p>
  <em> Cyril was already certain of his. Lady Rhea might not have had much time for him anymore, but it hardly bothered him so much now that he knew where he wanted to belong. He would stay at Garreg Mach and repay his debt to the Archbishop as well as he could, but he’d use his time off to keep the promise he and Lysithea had made on the Blue Sea Star. Together, the two would explore the worlds tucked into the pages of all the wonderful books they could find… and he’d probably even get to see that nice smile of hers from time to time. It was a future worth looking forward to, and one just within his reach. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To those of you who have played Three Houses or are familiar with its story, you probably know what's coming next. I wanted this chapter and the chapter before to end on the highest notes yet for our leading duo before things get really messy. In addition to showcasing how much both characters have grown, this chapter's clearest goal was to give them one last good day together. Lysithea's birthday (which I strategically planned this chapter's publication for) was a great opportunity for this to happen, and I wanted Cyril to try everything within his means to make it a special one for her. Claude definitely helps with this, and I wanted to have Cyril pick up on some of the pretty obvious clues he left out for him in their Support Conversations and in the way he throws his parties (I spent the better part of a day calling up Persian friends for this and asking them how they celebrate birthdays, then blending it together with my understanding of how birthdays are celebrated in the west). Importantly, I wanted to show Claude as Cyril's foil. If you've studied sociology or psychology at all, you may be aware of Berry's Acculturation Model. In this context, Cyril represents the marginalised immigrant, which involves the rejection of both his home and host cultures. It's interesting in that he mourns the rejection of neither, choosing to simply exist in whatever context is necessary for him. Claude, on the other hand, represents the integrated immigrant, who embraces both his home and host cultures because they're two sides of him. While he can celebrate these two sides of himself with the people closest to him, his sadness at being unable to openly celebrate who he is ultimately leads to his great dream for Fódlan. I think it's an incredibly clever dichotomy that I wanted to touch on a bit in this fic, with Cyril briefly acknowledging the good culture has to offer. The secret star of this chapter was Shamir, whose words and actions have a very profound impact on Cyril's own words and actions. Her version of a heart-to-heart is cold, cutting, and unrelentingly true, but it's a kindness Rhea does not offer him. This is demonstrated a bit in his slightly confrontational but well-meaning exchange he has here with Marianne, who he recognises as another person who's worth looking out for. More to the point: this talk offers Cyril an ultimatum about his place in life. Though he wouldn't have thought twice about this in the past, making friends and getting to know people has given him a freedom he's never really imagined before. In an ironic sort of way, Rhea's advice to him in Chapter 2 has helped him envision a life for himself beyond her. The last point I'll make here is that I really wanted to hammer home how much Cyril and Lysithea mean to each other. They've been so good for each other's development thus far and I'm even comfortable saying that they love each other a bit, but I feel absolutely no need to have them romantically involved until they grow up a bit more. </p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it! Happy Birthday, Lysithea, and Bappy Cysithea Week 2020!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Lysithea: Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As the situation at Garreg Mach quickly deteriorates, Lysithea most process the implications that the inevitable war to come will have on her classmates, the people of Fódlan, and her most precious friendship.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Today might have been a pleasant day had things turned out differently. The last of the winter snow had melted, heralding in spring’s arrival and the promise of a new year ahead. Cool, clear water ran freely down the gullies and ravines cutting through the Oghma Mountains, watering Fódlan from the Airmid in the Alliance to the Brionac Plateau in the Empire to the sweeping Tailtean Plains in the Kingdom. Wildflowers and tall grass sprung to life as if beckoned by the Goddess herself, and the weather had been pleasantly warm all through the month. Were it not for the sky above Garreg Mach, one might even say that nature had unfurled all of her glory for the Goddess’ devoted down below.</p><p>
  <em> But the sky… Lysithea had never seen anything like it before. </em>
</p><p>As she and most of the Golden Deer students poured out of the Reception Hall, Lysithea pinched her own arm to convince herself that what she was seeing was not a dream. What had been a glorious blue sky earlier that morning had been dyed an ugly shade of orange. The sun shone weakly through the haze, while towering billows of grey and black devoured the horizon to the south. Tiny white flakes fell from the heavens, and Lysithea noticed Raphael stick out his tongue to catch one.</p><p>“Eurgh! Ptooey!” the large young man gagged, wiping his tongue on the back of his wrist. “What’s the Goddess putting in the snowflakes today?”</p><p>“Raphael, it’s spring. This isn’t snow… it’s ash,” Ignatz corrected, rubbing a dry, gray flake into powder between his finger and thumb. “And those clouds aren’t clouds… they’re smoke.”</p><p>“Is the Empire here already?” asked Leonie, squinting hard as she scanned the mountains surrounding the monastery town. A hideous shriek echoed off in the distance, followed promptly by a thunderous crack that echoed off from the south. “Damnit, they’re early! They must have lit the smoke downwind of the wall to cover their siege.”</p><p>“The town!” Lorenz called out. “If they punch through the perimeter wall, the townsfolk will be the first to get caught up in the fighting. We must evacuate them before the battle begins!”</p><p>“The knights can handle that, can’t they?” Hilda asked. “I saw Catherine and Alois leading two full battalions of them that way earlier this morning and they haven’t been back since. They’re probably already on it.”</p><p>“No, Lorenz is right,” Ignatz gulped, clenching a fist and looking to Raphael. “If the Knights of Seiros are busy holding off the siege, they won’t have time to guide the people in town to safety.”</p><p>“Then what are we waiting for?” Raphael shouted. “The Professor and Claude can catch up later. We gotta go now!”</p><p>“Agreed,” Lorenz said resolutely. “Though we must conduct ourselves orderly. We cannot ensure a safe evacuation of such a large population of people without projecting authority. Leonie, you are the fastest of us. Head back to inform Claude and the Professor of our plans, then go to the Cathedral to get Marianne. If she was at prayer before that horrid noise, then she’ll likely be heading this way now. From there, the two of you can gather as many of our other classmates as you can when you meet us at the town square. Everyone else will abandon their things and come with me! Come! We must make haste now!”</p><p>Leonie nodded in agreement and the rest of the Golden Deer were off. Lysithea flipped open her satchel as she followed after Lorenz, and ruefully began discarding her books. The first to go was a heavy atlas of Fódlan, followed swiftly by her tactics primer. Then came the thick chronology of the last 200 years of Fódlan’s history. Next was a book on CrestologyProfessor Hanneman had given her that she had read through at least a dozen times, and had hoped to read through a dozen times more. Lysithea looked ahead of her for just a moment, and saw that her classmates were doing the same. </p><p>
  <em> This was symbolically as close to a graduation ceremony as they were likely to get as a class. By casting aside their school materials, Lysithea and the rest of the Golden Deer would be unburdened when they put all they learned over the last year into action.  </em>
</p><p>The final book in her bag was <em> The Saint of Faerghus. </em>Lysithea had checked it out of the library so many times that Tomas’s recent replacement let her keep it. Though it reminded her of Solon from time to time, she treasured it for all of the wisdom and love its author, Cornelia, had clearly poured into writing it. Nearly every other page inside was dog-eared, and the book had become the home of her bookmark from Cyril.</p><p>
  <em> At the very least she could save her birthday present. There was a little pocket inside her satchel that seemed safe enough… After all, it was a good enough place to put that ominous letter she received earlier in the month. Where was Cyril anyway? He and his wyvern, Saam, had been gone all morning. Perhaps they went with Catherine to help protect the wall… from the Empire… whose forces numbered in the thousands. If that was the case there was the chance that… No! He would be all right! Maybe they’d even run into each other while she and the rest of the Deer were evacuating the town. Yes, that was exactly what was going to happen. They would run into each other, fight through the coming battle together, and… then what? </em>
</p><p>Another series of deafening screeches pierced the heavens, echoing down the surrounding mountains in an unholy chorus. With her bookmark safely tucked away, Lysithea cast aside <em> The Saint </em> and hurried along with her classmates. As the group made it to the gate that led into the monastery’s market from the town, Lysithea and the other Deer quickly realised that the evacuation effort was going to be a massive undertaking. Throngs of men, women, and children all pressed in close towards the portcullis, their desperate pleas for sanctuary being met with apprehensive instructions from the monastery’s gatekeeper.</p><p>“What is the meaning of this?” Lorenz demanded of the gatekeeper. “Why are the gates shuttered to the townsfolk?”</p><p>“Oh, uh… Greetings, Golden Deer House,” the nervous soldier managed, trying feebly to sound reassuring. “Catherine’s orders. None are to enter the monastery while the siege is underway; we can’t risk the safety of the monastery or any of the artefacts inside.”</p><p>“That may well be, but these people are frightened and desperate,” the young nobleman retorted. “Should you keep them here, they’re sure to be cut to ribbons when the fighting breaks out in the town, provided they don’t trample each other in a panic first. Would the Archbishop ask that of them?”</p><p>“Of course not,” the gatekeeper responded angrily, “but the knights took half my garrison with them when they went to secure the wall. I want to get these people to safety as much as you do, but I don’t have the manpower to lead an evacuation effort AND hold the gate.”</p><p>“You leave the evacuation to us!” Raphael boomed, shoving his way through his classmates and looming high over the gatekeeper. “Give us ten guys to help us keep everyone together, and we’ll get these people to the eastern gate and on the road to the Alliance.”</p><p>“That’s almost all the soldiers I have left here!” the gatekeeper protested.</p><p>“C’mon!” the hulking young man practically roared back. “You only need a couple to open and close the gate. After we get everyone out, we’ll come back with your men and help you hold it ourselves.”</p><p>
  <em> It was unusual to see Raphael take on such a tone of authority, but he seemed surprisingly confident in a leadership role. It was like he was channeling Lorenz or even Claude. An unusual thing to see from someone she normally deemed a knucklehead, but it was hardly surprising. After Lysithea and the other Deer learned what had happened to Raphael’s parents, she supposed that her burly classmate would do just about anything to keep the same fate from befalling anyone else during a time of crisis. </em>
</p><p>“Oh, fine,” the gatekeeper conceded, “but if Catherine asks, I’m going to tell her that Gloucester here pulled rank over me.”</p><p>“Do as you will, but call your men over post-haste,” Lorenz replied flippantly. “Raphael, can you get the crowd’s attention?”</p><p>“On it,” Raphael said with a nod, cupping his hands together and holding them over his mouth. Lysithea covered her ears for the inevitable shouting to come. “HEY, EVERYONE! CALM DOWN AND LISTEN UP! WE’RE GONNA GET YOU OUTTA HERE!”</p><p>
  <em> Even with her palms over her ears, Lysithea still thought Raphael’s voice was obnoxiously loud. At least he was putting it to good use this one time instead of ‘helping’ Flayn work on her battlecry. </em>
</p><p>The gatekeeper, most of the other Deer, and those at the front of the crowd also winced at the volume of Raphael’s voice, but the ensuing silence spoke to its effectiveness. Hilda was the first to capitalise on it.</p><p>“You heard the man!” the noblewoman called out, her voice sweet yet commanding. “We’re going to be moving you all through the gate quickly but calmly. I need neat rows of eight at a time to get you through without too much trouble, so pass the message on to the folks behind you, okay? If we all work together here, everyone will be able to evacuate through the monastery grounds easy-peasy!”</p><p>Professor Byleth’s lectures had set in well with Hilda; the townsfolk complied with the young woman’s commands, standing shoulder to shoulder and passing the message along to those around them. As if to further solidify her control on the situation, Hilda climbed the stairway to the top of the battlements and began cheering on the townsfolk.</p><p>
  <em> Hilda had a strange way of getting people to do exactly what she wanted them to do. Some might have mistaken it for authority or even initiative, but Lysithea knew how much her friend liked working her charm. This may as well have been a continuation of the White Heron Cup for her. </em>
</p><p>Satisfied with her work, Hilda signalled to the soldiers that it was time to raise the gate. Lorenz took the initiative to lead the townsfolk into the monastery grounds, while Raphael and Ignatz walked on either side of the crowd, assuaging their concerns as well as they could. For her part, Lysithea took count of the civilians as they filed through the gate. She would confirm the final number with Hilda and the town elders later to make sure no one was left behind.</p><p>
  <em> Four-hundred and ninety-six, five-hundred and four, AND five hundred and ten… It looked like the family of six in the rear was the last of them. It seemed unfair that all of these people were having their lives upheaved like this, but this was what war looked like… Edelgard’s war. Why would her friend do something like this? </em>
</p><p>“Can you stay here as insurance, Lysithea?” Hilda asked from the ramparts, her voice breaking the younger girl’s line of thought. “Our gatekeeper friend here needs someone extra capable now that most of his troops are out with our classmates, and I can’t think of anyone more capable than you.”</p><p>“Hmph, in case you haven’t noticed, Hilda: I’m not some slack-jawed child fawning for your attention,” Lysithea huffed, crossing her arms at her chest. “But fine, I’ll stay here. If only because I just know the Death Knight is in the enemy’s ranks.”</p><p>“Ohhh! Right!” Hilda beamed back cheerfully. “If that creep came by with just little, old me protecting this place, I’m not sure I’d last very long.”</p><p>
  <em> That was an understatement. It was doubtful even Professor Byleth could match the Death Knight in armed combat. If it wasn’t for her impeccable aim and magical arsenal, Lysithea was sure Rhea would have had to write several letters of condolences to the families of the Golden Deer class not long after their first run-in with the frightening knight. </em>
</p><p>“No, you wouldn’t,” the girl snapped, offering her classmate a cheeky smile. “That’s why I’m staying in the danger zone, while you help the townspeople to safety. Tell the others I counted five-hundred and ten of them.”</p><p>“Got it!” the young lady replied with a wink. “Thanks, Lysithea! You’re the best~!”</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea didn’t need to be reminded; she knew she was the best. Besides, this was just the opportunity she was hoping for. In this little moment of respite from the others, she could finally get to her mail... </em>
</p><p>As Hilda descended the stairs and skipped after the evacuating civilians, Lysithea felt a chill run up her spine. Once she was sure her classmates were out of sight, she reached into her satchel, opened the buttoned-up pocket inside, flicked past the bookmark Cyril made for her, and fished out the letter. As she stared down at the double-headed eagle of House Hresvelg stamped in crimson wax upon the envelope peaking out at her from inside her satchel, she felt a lump in her throat.</p><p>
  <em> It made sense that Petra, Dorothea, Caspar, Linhardt, Ferdinand, and Bernadetta all got letters like these this month; they were Edelgard’s former classmates and countrymen… except for Petra, who was the Empire’s ‘guest’ from Brigid. But why her? Why did Lysithea get one too? </em>
</p><p>Running her thumbnail under the flap of the envelope, Lysithea broke the wax seal and quickly withdrew the letter from within. Before she could even process the content of the letter, her eyes instinctively scanned the author’s handwriting.</p><p>
  <em> It was practically flawless. Edelgard’s penmanship always was. If Lysithea was a different person, she might have felt honoured to have received a personal letter from the new Adrestian Emperor. If she found herself in any other circumstance, she might have been glad to receive correspondence from someone she considered a friend… someone who truly understood her. Here in the present, however, Lysithea felt hurt. </em>
</p><p>“Dear Lysithea,</p><p>Where am I to start? I cannot apologise for my actions at the Holy Tomb, and I will not stop until the world is well rid of Rhea and the tyrannical system she and her like have perpetuated in Fódlan for more than a thousand years. I wage this war in the names of the countless, unnamed masses who have been trampled and destroyed by the Church’s twisted doctrine. The structures supporting this world are rotten to the core, and must be torn out root and stem to give way for something better.</p><p>I am writing to you now because I know you see things as I do. You would not hurt as I do in the face of cruelty and injustice if that were not the case. The world as it is has taken so much from you, and you owe it nothing in return. Not your service, and certainly not your life. Everything I do now is to make the world a place where people never again have to endure what you and others like you have. A place where a person’s efforts and merits determine their worth, instead of their blood. </p><p>Lysithea, I implore you to consider joining me on my path to make the world I envision a reality. I know it is a difficult thing I ask of you, but I also know that you will fight with all your heart for what you believe in. May those beliefs guide you well.</p><p>Your sincere friend,</p><p>Edelgard von Hresvelg”</p><p>
  <em> No titles, no threats, no condescension. Edelgard was a remarkable woman… and a dangerous enemy. Though she acknowledged what Lysithea had been through, she made no point in confirming the same for herself. Why? Was she holding this back because she didn’t trust Lysithea with the truth? If she had a secret second Crest, it would make sense not to reveal it to a potential enemy… but if she didn’t? Then it meant she had seen through Lysithea’s carefully protected secret and used it to gain leverage on her… or worse… </em>
</p><p>Another hideous screech pierced the air, followed quickly by a tremendous boom. That was not the sound of any siege weapon Lysithea had studied at the Officer’s Academy; it was the sound of a Demonic Beast. The girl looked around her to see students, clergymen, mercenaries, and knights rushing south to the great wall that separated the monastery from the outside world. Lysithea stowed the letter away again and grit her teeth. </p><p>
  <em> Just how many Demonic Beasts was Edelgard planning on using? She had brought them into the Holy Tomb last month, and now she had them poised to attack her former classmates… the beasts themselves might have even been her former classmates! This went against everything she said in her letter. How could she make a world where no one had to suffer like Lysithea had by using the same terrible methods that caused such suffering in the first place? </em>
</p><p>Trumpets sounded out on the horizon for a brief second before they were utterly drowned out by the Cathedral’s bells tolling an alarm. In the distance and through the smoke, Lysithea made out a sheet of dust and rubble falling from the perimeter wall that surrounded the town of Garreg Mach. Something hard and heavy was cracking away at it from the other side.</p><p>
  <em> They were coming… When Lysithea thought back on how her days at the Officer’s Academy might have ended, she remembered imagining a quiet ceremony in the courtyard… not an invasion, and certainly not a continental civil war. Was Cyril with the Knights at the top of the wall, trying to repel the invaders? If so, would she ever get to see him again? </em>
</p><p>“W-What is that?!” came the quaky voice of a nearby soldier. “Oh gods, are they already here?”</p><p>The girl looked up and noticed the shadowy figure of a winged beast blot out the sun and begin to descend from above her and the other soldiers. Soon, the flapping of leathery wings followed, and Lysithea drew Thyrsus and prepared a spell to defend herself.</p><p>“Whoa! Whoa! It’s me!” an unmistakable voice cried out as the jingle of reigns halted the flying creature’s advance. “Can ya put that thing down?”</p><p>“Cyril!” Lysithea gasped, quickly lowering the wand and letting her spell dissipate in her clenched fist. “Cyril, you <em> cannot </em> sneak up on me at a time like this! I was about to blow you and Saam to pieces!”</p><p>Cyril landed his wyvern nearby, heaving a massive sigh as the beast under him shook himself out and greeted Lysithea with a friendly flick of his forked tongue. For all of the tension in the air, Saam remained as cool and collected as ever.</p><p>“Sorry, Lysithea… we’re glad ya didn’t,” Cyril admitted, gulping as he looked out at the billows of smoke rising in the distance. “Shamir said the wall won’t hold for too much longer, so she asked me to come back and get you, the Professor, and all the others. Dimitri and the Knights are already fortifying the town for the worst, but we gotta hurry.”</p><p>“You’re right,” she agreed, stowing Thyrsus and making her way over to Cyril and Saam. “The others took off to guide the townspeople to the eastern gate. The road to the Alliance is the quickest, safest route for escape right now.”</p><p>“Good thinkin’,” Cyril concurred, offering Lysithea his hand. “Here: hop on back. We can head over there to spread the message before we get back to the front. Can ya handle it here, gatekeep?”</p><p>The gatekeeper smiled and shot Cyril a stiff salute; the man seemed relieved to know that his post would not be at the front lines of the battle as he had anticipated. Lysithea watched her friend inch forward in his saddle to make room for her in the seat, gripping his reins to keep Saam in place as she approached. Though it was evident that Cyril had become quite close with his wyvern since he began riding late in the year, he still had taken to flying far more naturally than most. By this time last month, he was already keeping pace with veteran fliers like Seteth. With war on their doorstep now, every bit of expertise would be needed.</p><p>
  <em> It was as if Cyril was born to saddle up and take to the skies. Like loosing his bow from Saam’s back was something running through his veins. Naturally, it got people talking. Not even a week ago, she overheard a group of priests gossiping about how he looked ‘every bit the Almyran devil they always suspected him to be astride that wicked wyrm of his’. As much as she wanted to shout at them for their boorish bigotry, she knew better than to argue with idiots. They weren’t worth the effort. Even if Cyril personally saved every one of them today, changing their minds on Almyrans would take years of diplomatic work that no one on the continent seemed to want to do. It didn’t matter now, anyway. He was probably happy enough knowing she and Rhea appreciated him. </em>
</p><p>“Thanks.” Grasping Cyril’s hand and feeling his calloused fingers, Lysithea barely had to hop as her friend hoisted her up high enough for her foot to reach the stirrup. Saam looked back to watch her climb up, seeming almost amused at how the girl had to use Cyril’s shoulder for support as she swung her leg over the saddle. Once she was settled in, she wrapped her arms around her friend’s waist and held on tight. “I’m ready.”</p><p>Cyril nodded and gave Saam a prod with his heels, prompting the beast to stand upright on his hind legs and stretch his wings out wide. Saam looked up to the heavens above him and lowered himself for a split second before pushing off of the ground in a massive burst of strength. Within seconds, the battlements and marketplace below them seemingly shrank to the size of a throw rug as the wyvern, his rider, and their passenger climbed high into the air. Once they reached a comfortable cruising altitude and levelled off, Lysithea loosened her grip on Cyril’s waist before looking out at the dismal sight on the horizon. </p><p>
  <em> The enemy host was far larger than she anticipated. Many more than just a few hundred. </em>
</p><p>“Two thousand of them, at least,” Cyril said stoically, as if reading her mind, “and eleven of those Demonic Beasts that fly. Shamir managed to bring down the twelfth on her own, but she and the rest of the knights had to fall back once they were sure the wall was coming down.”</p><p>“Did you see any strange mages with them?” Lysithea asked, almost instinctively. “Mages all in black?”</p><p>“No, I didn’t. I was with Lady Rhea and Catherine in the town until Shamir got back with the rest of the knights,” her friend replied. “Why mages in black, though? Everyone in the Imperial Army wears black armour. Are ya afraid to fight Hubert or something?”</p><p>“Not in the slightest,” she insisted, deflecting his question. “If we see him today, you and I are going to make sure he’s sorry for the way he treated you. He said it himself: our enemy’s enemy-” </p><p>“Is an enemy for another day,” Cyril scoffed. “I’m surprised ya remembered that.”</p><p>“Don’t be,” the girl replied sternly. “I forget just about as easily as I forgive, and the way he had you pinned against that wall was unforgivable.”</p><p>Cyril did not offer much of a response, opting instead to keep his face forward and out of Lysithea’s line of sight. She hardly minded; her own attentions were on the battle to come. </p><p>
  <em> The Death Knight, Hubert, the Demonic Beasts, the Imperial army, Edelgard… and those mages. How did those mages figure into Edelgard’s plans? Were they the Emperor’s puppets or her puppet masters? Neither seemed to make much sense. The Imperial army alone was likely large enough to take Fódlan by force with proper planning. The Knights of Seiros were too few, the Kingdom’s army had been spread thin since the subjugation of Duscur, and the Alliance lords were too politically divided to unite against any kind of threat within Fódlan’s borders. Lysithea reasoned that it wouldn’t take much more than five years to bring the whole continent under the Adrestian heel if the forces at Garreg Mach weren’t able to break the Empire’s momentum here today. Why, then, did Edelgard bring those monsters into the fold? </em>
</p><p>“Say… Lysithea?” Cyril asked suddenly. “Can I tell ya something?”</p><p>“Huh?” came the girl, wrenching herself out of her own thoughts. “Of course. What’s up?”</p><p>“It’s about today,” he started, “I’m a little scared.”</p><p>“That’s natural,” she replied honestly. “To be perfectly honest, I am too. We’re facing down a battle we’re very unlikely to win outright. I believe in the Professor and the others, but-”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant,” Cyril interrupted. “I meant… I’m scared of what happens next. Whether we win today or we don't, everything’s gonna change.”</p><p>
  <em> What did that mean? </em>
</p><p>“I suppose you’re right,” Lysithea conceded, “but can you be more specific? What exactly are you afraid of? Dying?”</p><p>“No, not dying,” her friend replied. “Dying… it’s just the end. That’s it, and there’s nothing else to worry ‘bout after that. I know Lady Rhea and the Church say it’s not, but I’ve never been so sure how right they were about it. Still, ya know I was never here for the Church. If protecting Lady Rhea means I gotta die, then I gotta die. I’m okay with that.”</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea wasn't. </em>
</p><p>“It won’t come to that,” she said sharply. “We’re a team, remember?”</p><p>“Yeah…” Cyril croaked. “But whether we win or we lose, us being a team… it’s over after today, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Why would you say that?” Lysithea hissed, giving her friend a defiant nudge. He did not snap back at her the way he might have a few short months ago.</p><p>“If we win, Lady Rhea’s probably gonna have Edelgard and everyone who supported her killed. That’ll be the end of the Empire, and things are gonna get real messy real fast. I don’t understand Fódlan’s politics too well, but I don’t have any doubts about that much,” Cyril said with a sigh.</p><p>
  <em> Neither did she. Cyril was exactly right; even the best case scenario seemed dismal. </em>
</p><p>“And your family’s territory is real close to the Empire, right?” he continued. “You’re gonna have to go home to help them keep everyone there safe, and it’s gonna take years to smooth everything out… And that all only happens if we win.”</p><p>
  <em> She didn’t have many years ahead of her as it stood. </em>
</p><p>“We will,” Lysithea said as if to convince her friend and herself that the improbable was the inevitable. “And you know my family’s doors are always open to you. You and Saam are going to come visit me in Ordelia Territory, Cyril, and I’m going to teach you to read and write. That was our deal! You promised!”</p><p>“Y-Yeah… I promised,” Cyril quaked. “If we lose, though… we’re either dead or we’re never gonna see each other again. I gotta go where Lady Rhea goes, and it’s not right for us to put you and your folks in danger by being there. I'm probably gonna be on the run for the rest of my life.”</p><p>Lysithea bit down on her lip.</p><p>
  <em> He was right again, and it stung. It stung harder than Edelgard’s letter or even the potential presence of those awful mages. Given her way, Edelgard would hunt Rhea to the ends of the Earth. She would hunt her down and kill her. That was the only way to build the world she envisioned. And Cyril? He was going to go where Rhea went… even if that meant to his grave. There was some selfish part of Lysithea that thought about asking her friend to flee with her back to the Alliance, but she couldn’t ask Cyril to choose between her and Rhea. After all… he wasn’t going to make her choose between him and her parents. He had made that much clear already. </em>
</p><p>“That’s why we have to win, Cyril,” Lysithea choked, pulling herself tight against her friend’s back. “You aren't going to lose the life you've built here! I don’t care if I have to take the Death Knight down a hundred more times. Hubert and even Edelgard too. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I won’t let things just come to that!”</p><p>There was a pause before Cyril spoke again.</p><p>“Me neither,” the boy murmured shakily. Lysithea could not see his face, but it sounded like he wanted to cry. If he turned back to look at her, he might see that she had already beaten him to it. “We’re gonna win, and I’m gonna take that sabbatabical.”</p><p>Laughing and crying at the same time seemed ridiculous to Lysithea, but she could hardly help it now.</p><p>“Heh, you mean: <em> ‘sabbatical’ </em>,” the girl corrected with a laugh that felt more like a sob. </p><p>“Yeah, a <em> sabbatical. </em>Guess I gotta work on tha… Ahaha!” Before he could get it all out, Cyril suddenly burst out laughing. Lysithea still could not tell whether or not he was crying too, but she held him tight and laughed right along with him. Their laughter filled the hazy air above the monastery grounds as Saam circled to descend upon their destination. </p><p>
  <em> What a rotten day this promised to be. By this time tomorrow, they would all either be dead, imprisoned, or bound to duties that would take a lifetime to see through... though Lysithea did not have much lifetime ahead of her. And yet in this moment, she hardly could think of any other place she’d rather be nor anything else she’d rather be doing. Of course, she’d have to wipe away her tears before the others saw them, but Saam’s nice, slow descent gave her precious seconds to enjoy this bittersweet moment and prepare for the next. The next moment… well, it promised to be the hardest fight of her life. Difficulty never cowed her, though. If anything, it encouraged her. There was so much more riding on this battle than getting back at those wicked mages or stopping Edelgard. Lysithea had plans to keep, and a boy whose future she wanted to ensure. If she and that boy were half the team she thought they were, the foes before them didn’t stand a chance. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Let me preface my afterword by saying this: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK A YEAR TO GET OUT TO YOU GUYS. With lockdown conditions, an increased workload, multiple moves, and my MA to focus on, 2020 was the busiest year of my life thus far. It was pretty draining, but I'm very grateful for my health, my friends, my family, and my stable source of income. To those of you who have read and waited on a continuation to this fic: thank you so very much. I hope this chapter and the chapters to come will be worth the wait to you all! =]</p><p>I had been working on this chapter before my hiatus, and I really wanted it to focus on dialogue. Though I've covered many of the characters featured in this chapter before in this fic, I wanted to use dialogue between them to build tension and a sense of finality to the Golden Deer House's time as students of the Officer's Academy. To this end, I also wanted to showcase some of what these kids have learned over the last year or so. Another thing I wanted to toss in here was a final word in from Edelgard (who likely will not come back into the story as a featured character for quite a while). I think her relationship with Lysithea is really interesting, and I wanted to dive into that one final time before they became full-blown enemies. Naturally, it would be a little difficult to do in a battlefield setting, but Petra's Lone Moon monastery dialogue reveals that Edelgard sent letters to a number of students at Garreg Mach before the battle. To this end, I wanted to demonstrate Edelgard's compassion and shrewdness in equal measures through her use of a letter. Finally, I couldn't come back to this story without getting to the heart of it: namely Cyril and Lysithea's relationship. More than anything else, I wanted this chapter to hammer home the sudden (and frankly sad) end to these two characters' time together as kids at the academy. While they're both mature enough to acknowledge it as a potential reality, neither seem quite ready for it to actually happen. While Lysithea intends to fight against it, I think she and Cyril understand that it's inevitable. That's a tough pill for anyone (let alone a pair of kids) to swallow, and I think it's natural for them to cry about it.</p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it! Bappy Cysithea Week 2021!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Cyril: Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the Church's defeat in the Battle of Garreg Mach, Cyril must come to grips with some difficult truths and navigate his feelings in the face of them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from the more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Today might have been a pleasant day had things just turned out the way they were supposed to. For the first hour or so of the battle, it seemed they might. The Empire’s vanguard was utterly smashed against the Church’s defences. Its staggering numbers counted for little against the superior stratagems devised by Professor Byleth, Claude, and Seteth. Its famed commanders crumpled and were forced into retreat - with the most dangerous soldier on the continent sent staggering back to the rearguard by a talented pair of children. Even the Emperor herself was defeated in single combat against the Professor.</p><p>
  <em> It looked like it was all coming together… but Edelgard was never planning on a fair fight. Two-thousand soldiers led by the Emperor and her generals were the bait, and Cyril and all the others had snatched it up like a school of greedy herrings back at the fishing grounds. There wouldn’t be anymore fishing there after today. No more stables to muck out, no more market squares to sweep up, no more lectures to sit through… no more breakfast with her in the morning sun. Lady Rhea… where was she now? He hadn’t been there with her when she disappeared. He hadn’t been there! </em>
</p><p>Clenching his teeth, Cyril gripped Saam’s reins tight and cracked them to force the wyvern to fly faster. There was an awful, choking sense of dread welling up in the boy’s insides that made him want to retch up his breakfast, and going faster was the only remedy his muscles could come up with to escape this dismal sensation. The skinny arms around his torso gripped him firmly, but his heart was beating so fast in his chest that he could hardly feel them. Ultimately, it was her voice that snapped him back into reality.</p><p>“Cyril! Go easier on Saam!” the girl sitting behind him in the saddle yelped. “You’re wearing him out!”</p><p>
  <em> Was that Lysithea? He had almost forgotten that she was with him, but that was her voice in his ear. Her arms around his chest and her cheek planted firm against his back. What was he doing? </em>
</p><p>“Woooah! Woah!” he called, giving his reins a gentle tug and easing up on his stirrups. Saam, all too happy to oblige, slowed down to soaring speed and turned a grateful eye back to the passenger. It scarcely took long for the beast’s exhausted pants to register with his driver, whose own breaths were little more than quick, frantic gulps now. “Woah…”</p><p>Lysithea’s arms loosened around him a bit, but she did not let him go. Instead, she pulled him back against her a bit, placed her right hand over his, and straightened out their trajectory for him. It took Cyril a moment afterwards to realise that he had been steering them south instead of east. As Saam corrected his course and smoothly veered east, the two friends simply sat like this for a while, enveloped in the fiery twilight sky and deafened by the howling wind to the carnage afoot at the monastery they had once called home. The boy was still breathing in heavy, anxious gasps, but the girl helped him down from the worst of his episode by making long, rhythmic sighs for him to imitate. As soon as the fire in his veins died down to a flicker, Cyril felt himself shaking like a wet kitten.</p><p>“We’re not too far off from the rendezvous point,” Lysithea said softly. “We’ll figure out what we ought to do once we get there.”</p><p>“Do…” Cyril choked. “Do ya think she’s alright?”</p><p>His friend took a moment to answer. “Yes, I think so.”</p><p>“Why?” He asked brusquely. The boy was desperate for answers, and Lysithea was one of the smartest people he knew.</p><p>
  <em> Not that there was anyone else up here to talk to. </em>
</p><p>“If Edelgard has her, she knows better than to make a martyr of her,” the girl replied. “Her aim isn’t just to overthrow Lady Rhea; she wants to uproot the Church and everything attached to it. To do that, she needs to-”</p><p>“I don’t think I wanna hear anymore,” Cyril interrupted weakly. “I wasn’t there for her…”</p><p>“Yes, you were,” Lysithea retorted. “You did everything anyone could do to protect her and the monastery.”</p><p>“...but I’m still here,” the boy sighed, still visibly shaking. “I’m still alive...”</p><p>“You don’t get to talk like that,” the girl snapped, her voice harsh and somewhat shrill. “Not now and not to me, do you understand?”</p><p>
  <em> That was sudden. What had he said that he hadn’t said before? She knew he was ready to die for Lady Rhea. He had told her so himself. She didn’t get mad then. Why now? </em>
</p><p>“...Yeah,” he replied. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Hmph… Fine then: apology accepted,” she huffed before letting out a tiny chuckle. “May I ask you something?”</p><p>Cyril replied with a nod.</p><p>“Are we still a team?”</p><p>Cyril nodded again, the makings of a smile beginning to work its way across his face. “The best.”</p><p>“I’d say so too,” Lysithea concurred proudly. “You made short work of those Pegasus Knights and mages that normally withstand my magic, and I polished off all of those knights whose armour was too thick for your arrows.”</p><p>“Not to mention the Death Knight,” Cyril added proudly. “Again.”</p><p>“Again,” his friend repeated, clearly liking the sound of that. “That makes me four for four with that creep.”</p><p>“I hope he never breaks your winning streak,” he stated worriedly. “Ya make it look easy, but if he ever closed the distance-”</p><p>“He won’t,” Lysithea said matter-of-factly, “You have remarkably sharp senses, and you’ll warn me if he tries next time. We’re a team. The best, if I recall you saying.”</p><p>
  <em> He and Lysithea were a good team. Heck, they were a great team. But would there even be a next time? Where was he to go after today? If Lysithea was right about Lady Rhea, then he’d need to try to find her before something bad happened to her. </em>
</p><p>“Ugh, I said it, didn’t I?” Lysithea groaned.</p><p>“Said what?”</p><p>“‘Next time’,” she responded, making Cyril feel stupid for forgetting how perceptive Lysithea could be. “...but I meant it, you know? I want there to be a next time.”</p><p>“Ya wanna fight the Death Knight again?” Cyril asked incredulously.</p><p>“No… Well, maybe if I get that stupid helmet off of him next time,” Lysithea grumbled. “But what I meant to say was that I want us to keep being a team. I wanted to ask you if...”</p><p>His friend trailed off a bit, which Cyril thought was a bit strange. He might have turned around to look at her if he wasn’t responsible for keeping Saam flying steady.</p><p>“If… you would want to come live with me for a while?” she asked meekly. “I know you need to go rescue Lady Rhea, but we have no idea where the Empire might have taken her if she’s truly been captured. And as I said some while ago... I’ve already mentioned you to my parents. They very much want to meet you.”</p><p>
  <em> That sure was a nice offer. Really nice. Lysithea had a lot of good things to say about her parents, and her home by the river was a place Cyril had put together in his imagination at least a hundred times since she first described it to him. And more than any of that, it would be nice not to have to say goodbye to his first real friend. If he went off to look for Lady Rhea, there was no guarantee that he would ever find her and almost every guarantee that he’d never see Lysithea again. Maybe Ordelia Territory was the right call. </em>
</p><p>Suddenly Cyril’s ears perked to attention. There was a distant voice calling out from nearby.</p><p>“Did ya hear that?” he asked his friend, hoping she would forgive him for not answering right away. “I heard someone just now.”</p><p>“You did?” she responded quizzically. “I couldn’t hear a-- Eeek!”</p><p>Cyril felt Lysithea’s arms squeeze around him and heard the girl shriek as an arrow whizzed past them. Saam reacted swiftly thereafter, wheeling mid-air in preparation for the next. Instead of another arrow, however, Cyril heard the voice again.</p><p>“I don’t w...hit you,” it called from down below. The distance between the ground and where they were was much longer than Cyril thought a person could hear from, but he was somehow making out what the archer below was shouting at them. “But the nex…won’t miss!”</p><p>“I think that’s Claude,” the boy grumbled, clearly frustrated. “We’d better head down there before he shoots at us again.”</p><p>“Oh, that idiot!” Lysithea fumed. “He could have killed us all! How did he…” She paused a moment. “How did you…? Cyril, can you hear him from up here?”</p><p>“Yeah,” answered Cyril, raising a brow as he bade Saam to head down. “You’re sure ya couldn’t hear anything.”</p><p>“Positive,” the girl replied, easing her grip around Cyril’s chest again. “I knew you had good hearing, but that’s on an entirely different level. You’re really in your element up here.”</p><p>
  <em> He was, wasn’t he? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Cyril couldn’t be sure; he’d need sharp senses to get through the fights ahead, but he really didn’t want to fall into any more of the expectations others had about Almyrans than he already did. People had already treated him differently when he was under Lady Rhea’s protection, but now that she was gone… </em>
</p><p>“There you two are!” Claude’s voice came, far more clearly now than it had been a few moments ago. “We were beginning to worry. How’s my favourite prickly pair?”</p><p>“Don’t call us that, you dolt!” Lysithea snapped as Saam’s wings fluttered them down to an easy landing. “Do we look like a cactus to you?”</p><p>The rendezvous location was hardly anything special; a clearing of grassland in the sprawling woods called the Sealed Forest. This stretch of land was far from where the Golden Deer had aided their professor in felling Solon and Kronya some months back, but the ruins of ancient pillars and statues that poked out through the treetops indicated that this was very much the same forest. Spread out near the landing site were the students of the Golden Deer House themselves. Claude was standing tall between Hilda and Lorenz, Ignatz and Raphael were taking turns with a canteen, Leonie was taking stock of their rather paltry pile of supplies, and Marianne was brushing down the horses the group must have escaped on. Cyril wanted to smile when he heard Lysithea giving Claude the chewing he deserved, but sufficed himself by joining in on the tonguelashing. </p><p>“Firing an arrow at us like that was pretty stupid of ya, Claude,” he said plainly. “I heard ya just fine without it, which you’d probably know if ya just waited a couple seconds. Some scheming genius you turned out to be.”</p><p>“Hey!” the heir to House Reigan complained. “I’m sorry for that, but-”</p><p>Claude was suddenly silenced by Hilda, who clapped a hand over his mouth and flashed the pair a cheesy smile. “But nothing! He’s sorry! Let’s go back to being friends again, so we can figure out what the heck we’re going to do next!”</p><p>“Thank you, Hilda,” Lorenz added in, “If I had to hear another word out of that pretender’s mouth, I’m sure I’d-”</p><p>Before Gloucester could complete his jab at the muffled Reigan, Leonie put him in a headlock and shushed him loudly. It was evident that the young woman was significantly more invested in the sight far off in the distance than she was in dealing with these man-children, and Cyril followed Leonie’s line of sight to try to make out who was approaching.</p><p>“Dimitri, Dedue, and a bunch of the students from the other houses. They should be here in a minute or so,” he said sharply. “No sign of the Knights yet, though. Did ya guys hear anything about Lady Rhea before getting outta there?”</p><p>The terse silence that followed only served to stoke the boy’s fears. It was possible that neither the Prince of Faerghus nor any of the other students had much of an idea either. Cyril and Lysithea had been engaged in the effort to fight off Imperial forces on the eastern flank of the monastery, so he had seen little of the Archbishop during the battle. And with Seteth and the Knights of Seiros having yet to arrive at the rendezvous point, Cyril was beginning to worry that he would never get the answers he needed. </p><p>“She was with Teach last time I saw either of them,” Claude offered, squirming free of Hilda’s grasp to speak. “Though… it got weird towards the end.”</p><p>“Weird?” Lysithea asked. “What is that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“You didn’t see the dragon, did you?” the House Leader responded. “After Lady Rhea ordered us all to retreat, this white beast appeared out of nowhere and began devastating the Imperial forces. It was like seeing something out of scripture… Well until...”</p><p>“What?!” Cyril demanded. “Did Lady Rhea call it over to help? Where’s the Professor?”</p><p>“Your Professor is dead,” answered the harsh voice of a young man. “And the white beast was subdued by the Empire’s monstrosities.”</p><p>“Dimitri?” Claude gasped, “You can’t be serious. I’ll assume you saw more of what happened than I did? What exactly did you see?”</p><p>“Exactly what I just said,” the Prince growled. “A mage not unlike that Solon character blasted Byleth off the side of a cliff in an ambush. If that dastard’s spell didn’t end your Professor’s life, the fall surely will have. You’re free to check the bottom of the canyon if you don’t believe me, though I doubt the Imperial Army will help you look.”</p><p>“No!” Lysithea practically shouted. Cyril looked back, and saw the look of sheer outrage in her eyes. “That isn’t true! The Professor is much too strong to go down like that. And to those monsters!”</p><p>Dimitri huffed callously and sneered at the girl. “Death is a reality for us all on any battlefield. You’re either even more naive than your looks would suggest or too stupid to realise your delusion.”</p><p>Cyril braced himself for the shouting fit that seemed inevitable whenever anyone insinuated that Lysithea was childish, but it never came. He turned again to see Lysithea just sitting in the saddle there, her mouth pressed into a tight line on her face and fury boiling over behind the tears welling up in her eyes. </p><p>
  <em> This wasn’t like her at all. </em>
</p><p>“There it is,” Dimitri mused. “Delusion wiped clean. Your Professor is dead, those mages are alive, and the Empire is responsible. How will you respond?”</p><p>“That’s enough, ya jerk!” Cyril barked, unconsciously reaching for his bow. “If ya wanna destroy the Empire so bad, I’m right there with ya, but ya don’t get to talk to Lysithea like that!”</p><p>The Prince raised a brow when he noticed the boy’s hand move and flashed his lance in response. Cyril had not noticed until now that it was dripping with blood… as was Dimitri. </p><p>“And you intend to stop me?” the Prince replied coldly. “I could wring the life out of that wyrm of yours with my bare hands. Why, I crushed a man’s head through his helmet with them earlier. What do you think I could do to you with this?”</p><p>As an Almyran living in Fódlan, Cyril had seen plenty of hatred in the eyes of other people, but the look in Dimitri’s eyes did not seem human. Though Cyril reasoned that this hatred was not for him in particular, it was certainly directed at him… and it was the most frightening thing the boy had ever seen. </p><p>“Okay! I think we’ve all done enough fighting for one day,” Claude interjected, dashing in between Dimitri and Cyril and holding his hands out. “Let’s save it for the Empire, yeah?”</p><p>Cyril did not dare to blink for fear of what Dimitri might do next, and thanked his lucky stars that the foreboding prince turned from him and put his spear away. </p><p>“Fine by me,” he spat. “You’ll need all the bodies you can get to throw at the Empire if you have any hopes for your own future, Claude. Who am I to deny them to you?”</p><p>Cyril was still frozen in place with fear, but managed to turn around in time to see Lysithea clench her fist to diffuse the spell she had been preparing to cast. </p><p>
  <em> She was ready to rescue him again, wasn’t she? First from Hubert, and now from Dimitri. How could someone so brave be so afraid of the dark? </em>
</p><p>“Did you see Lady Rhea after the dragon came in?” Marianne’s voice sounded out, breaking the tense lull in the heated exchange. “Perhaps Cyril was right; perhaps she summoned it to aid in our escape.”</p><p>“If she did, then she’d have been taken along with it,” the frightful prince answered, the venom in his voice beginning to wane. There was a common rumour among many of the Golden Deer that Dimitri and Marianne had bonded a bit during their time at the monastery, and the small effect she had on him may have lent a bit of credence to that. “The Imperial forces were quick to sweep through that area as soon as the white beast was brought down. It’s likely the Archbishop was taken then.”</p><p>“Okay, that’s good news,” Claude said with a sigh. “It means she’s probably still alive; the Empire wouldn’t kill her without getting as much out of her as they could to bring the rest of the Church down with her. And I’m with Lysithea on Teach; there could be hope for our professor yet. After all; if the Sword of the Creator could cut through worlds to bring Teach back to us, then who’s to say it couldn’t do the same to save someone from a fall like that? Maybe the Professor and Lady Rhea even got out of there together.”</p><p>Though Dimitri hardly looked convinced, Cyril felt relieved to hear Claude’s words. </p><p>
  <em> However small it may have been, there was a chance that Lady Rhea and the Professor had survived. It had been by chance that he had met Lady Rhea in the first place, so the gods owed her the chance to make it out alive for all of the great things she had done. That was good enough to keep Cyril going for the time being. </em>
</p><p>“What do we do now?” Cyril heard Raphael ask.</p><p>“We organise,” Claude replied with a sly smile. “The Kingdom and the Alliance have to come together if we’re to stand any chance against the Empire. I propose we gather our forces within our own respective borders, and meet back here in a year’s time with a united front.”</p><p>“A year?!” Dimitri snarled. “No, I think not. The tormented souls of the dead cannot wait that long to see Edelgard’s wretched soul to the eternal flames. Houses Frauldarius, Gautier, Galatea, and Charon are already at my disposal. I’ll send word to House Rowe and be back here to advance on the Empire in half that time, with or without you.”</p><p>“And I will see the men of Duscur to our side, Your Highness,” Dedue added. “If they know the Empire was behind what happened there four years ago, they may sit down to talk. If you can convince your Lord Uncle to revoke House Kleiman’s dominion over my people’s land, I can convince them to stand behind you to help you win your revenge.”</p><p>“You’re crazy, Dimitri! Six months is nowhere near enough time to rally the Alliance lords together!” Claude protested. “Ask Lorenz here! Or Hilda, Lysithea, or Marianne! Once word reaches the Alliance that the Empire is on the march, there will be those who wish to remain neutral against or even side with the Empire! My grandfather and I need at least a year to get everyone at the roundtable to see eye-to-eye!”</p><p>“Cull the traitors, then, and make it happen,” the Prince said coldly. “I’ll not wait another year for the satisfaction of twisting that woman’s wicked head from her shoulders.”</p><p>Cyril’s head practically spun as the two lords continued to argue. His nerves were still frayed from the earlier battle and the fearful look Dimitri had given him, and even Saam let out a grumble of concern when he sensed Cyril’s anxiety. Without him having to ask, the boy suddenly felt his friend’s arms wrap around his chest as she rested her chin on his shoulder. </p><p>
  <em> Cyril wouldn’t say it out loud, but he liked it when Lysithea held onto him like this. It felt like she was keeping him from flying off in the wind. Like she was keeping him stuck in his saddle or onto the ground or wherever they happened to be. She was everything in a friend he could have asked for, and it was becoming clearer and clearer that going with her to Ordelia Territory was the right move for him. Lady Rhea wanted this, didn’t she?  </em>
</p><p>“Your Highness!” a man called out from a distance. Cyril turned his head to see Gilbert leading the rest of the Knights over. “Thank the gods you’re safe!”</p><p>“Hah! See that, Shamir?” laughed Catherine, giving the archer beside her a nudge. “I told you Cyril would beat us here. Awfully rude of you to head off ahead of us, boy. Shamir here was worried sick about you!”</p><p>Shamir shot her partner an unamused glance before looking to Cyril and offering him the slightest nod of her head. It was about as affectionate a gesture as his mentor had to offer, and so the boy smiled at her in kind. </p><p>“So?” came Catherine, marching up to the two house leaders gathered before her. “What’s the news? Any sight of Lady Rhea or the Professor?”</p><p>As Claude filled the Knights in on what he and Dimitri had witnessed during the battle’s climax, Cyril took the opportunity to hop down from Saam before offering Lysithea a hand. His friend thanked him as she took it, and Cyril was still rather surprised at how soft her palms had remained, even after all of that fighting. As soon as the pair both had their feet on the ground, Lysithea gave her friend a hug before heading over to talk amongst her classmates. Unlike Shamir, Lysithea was relatively open with her affections with him and a few others at the monastery. Cyril guessed that no one dared to provoke her about it thus far for fear of invoking her temper, and he was grateful that such was the case now. </p><p>“Don’t take Catherine at her word,” Shamir commented, breaking from her partner’s conversation with Claude to join Cyril on the sidelines. “I never worry.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he replied, rubbing the back of his head. “Though I’m sorry for taking off without ya and the rest of the knights. Lysithea and I got real far down the enemy’s lines, and I couldn’t just leave her there when we heard the call to retreat.”</p><p>“Don’t apologise,” the knight reprimanded. “You did as I taught you by looking out for your partner. More importantly, you have news for me. I can tell by your posture.”</p><p>
  <em> Cyril was beginning to worry that he was too easy to read.  </em>
</p><p>“Um… Sorta, yeah,” he mumbled, turning his gaze to the ground beneath his feet. “Though I don’t think it counts as news until something gets done about it, right?”</p><p>Shamir looked at him queerly, and rolled her eyes. It was evident that she did not care for his vagueness. “Ugh, you’re learning too well from me. Fine, keep your secret until Seteth and Flayn get here. They were adamant about sealing the Holy Tomb to keep the Empire from ransacking the place, but they won’t have been far behind us if they made it out alive.”</p><p>
  <em> ‘If’? Shamir really didn’t have much faith in anyone she couldn’t see, did she? And this was Seteth she was talking about! Cyril reasoned that if anyone had the sheer will to make it out of that mess, it was him, especially with Flayn in tow.  </em>
</p><p>As if to prove Shamir’s doubts misfounded twice in one day, Cyril heard the faint flapping of wings in the distance, turning to see Seteth’s wyvern coming in from the west. Flayn was sitting in the front of the saddle with her brother seemingly shielding her with his body as he brought them down to land. It was not until they came closer that Cyril saw the frantic look on Flayn’s face and the arrows poking out from behind Seteth’s shoulder. He had been hit.</p><p>“Hold on, brother!” Flayn cried, ducking beneath Seteth’s arm and hopping down from the wyvern. “Raphael! Dedue! Please come assist us!”</p><p>The two, large young men hurried over, helped Seteth off of his saddle, and gently put him down where his sister asked them to. The minister’s ordinarily spotless blue cape was stained black in the fading light of the setting sun, and his face was paler than Cyril had ever seen it before. Flayn then went to Shamir to ask her to pull the arrows out one at a time, bidding everyone else stand back as she prepared her healing spell to close off the wounds.</p><p>“Please do not leave me in this world, brother…” Flayn whimpered, turning Seteth on his side once she had finished her spells and delicately placing a hand on his shoulder. “Mother can wait...”</p><p>Seteth weakly raised a hand and cupped Flayn’s cheek. “Never... sweet Flayn. I promised her… I would always be there to protect you… Heh, though it would seem as if… you’re the one who has kept me safe this day… I’m so very proud of you.”</p><p>As Flayn wept into her brother’s shoulder and Ignatz sidled over to offer the wounded man his canteen, Shamir asked Cyril to fashion a makeshift stretcher out of a banner and a pair of wooden lance poles. Cyril looked back before complying with his mentor’s command. </p><p>
  <em> He had almost forgotten that war was like this. How long had it been since he was in Flayn’s place? Blood, tears, and little hope in sight… and that was before the Gonerils captured him. If Lady Rhea didn’t come and save him from the Locket, he would’ve been just another orphan. Not even that. A spoil of war… </em>
</p><p>“Listen up, Knights!” the boy heard Catherine call out as he worked. “We can’t stay here past nightfall! The enemy has likely already mobilised to hunt us down, and the woods here won’t hide us from the numbers they have at their disposal. The decision has been made that we’re to escort Prince Dimitri and the Blue Lion House north to Fhirdiad. The Prince’s uncle, Duke Rufus, has already committed to hosting the Knights of Seiros in exile until we’re ready to retake Garreg Mach.” </p><p>Cyril felt his heart sink as the reality of his situation settled in with him. </p><p>
  <em> If the Knights were heading north, then he’d be expected to join them. And how… how could he not? Going to Ordelia Territory might have been the right call for his own sake, but it was clear now that it wasn’t the right call for Lady Rhea’s. </em>
</p><p>“Meanwhile, Lady Judith and the forces of House Daphnel will be arriving within the hour to escort the Golden Deer House all the way through the Alliance to Derdriu,” the Thunderbrand Knight continued. “We’ll be counting on Claude and his grandfather, Duke Oswald, to rally the leaders of the Alliance Roundtable to our cause in the months to come.”</p><p>“And as for us?” he heard Linhardt pipe in. “Many in the Black Eagle House - myself included - took the time out of our day to aid you and the Professor in the battle earlier. Surely you don’t expect us to return back to the Empire?”</p><p>“As a matter of fact, von Hevring, I do,” Catherine replied boisterously. “We’re grateful for your help today - all of you, but we don’t have the supplies to see you up north with us. Instead, you head back and tell your parents and superiors that we forced you into this. That there wasn’t any leaving Garreg Mach with the threat of the Imperial invasion coming down on us. You can tell them where we’re headed and that Seteth was injured in the fighting. Whatever’s necessary to keep you safe. Once you’ve cleared your names, you’re free to try to live your lives peacefully through the war to come. Or you could leave the comfort of your homes to help us fight the good fight. Either way, none of us want to see any of you on the other side of the battlefield. Now, we need you all to say your goodbyes, so we can get moving as soon as Lady Judith arrives. Let’s go, people!”</p><p>As those around him scrambled to make ready, Cyril picked up his newly-made stretcher and tucked it under his arm. He was not sure how he was going to break the news of his decision to Lysithea. His gaze fell to the ground as he began to walk to where Seteth and Flayn were. Suddenly, he felt the stretcher pulled clean from his grasp and looked up from the grass to see Shamir inspecting his handiwork.</p><p>“You’re done here,” she said coolly. “Now, go talk to her.”</p><p>“What?” he asked, barely registering what Shamir was asking him to do.</p><p>“Your partner,” Shamir clarified, as if she were spelling it out for a child. “Go talk to her.”</p><p>“Right…” the boy gulped, “but what do I say?”</p><p>“That you’re going with her,” the knight answered. “You’re terrible at hiding things from me, remember? Listen: you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t go with her.”</p><p>Cyril was dumbstruck, stumbling over his words incoherently before blurting out, “B-But Lady Rhea-”</p><p>“Won’t be any less kidnapped if you come with us to Fhirdiad,” Shamir interrupted, clearly bored with her protege’s babbling. “Make your move or don’t; it’s your choice. Just do it before Judith gets here.”</p><p>Before the boy could continue to make a fool of himself any further, Shamir turned from him and called Alois over to help her put Seteth on the stretcher. Cyril then felt the urgency of the task at hand. As he ran back to where the students were gathered, Cyril felt his heart pounding so fast that he could feel it in his throat.</p><p>
  <em> Leonie, Marianne, Caspar, Ferdinand, Mercedes, Sylvain… Where was... </em>
</p><p>“Cyril!” he heard a feminine voice call out from nearby. It was Hilda again. “Are you going with the Knights?”</p><p>“I dunno. Probably,” he answered curtly, trying to trudge past her. He hardly got far before he found Claude in his way. “Can ya guys move? I don’t really have time for this.”</p><p>“Ruuude!” groaned Hilda. “We just wanted to tell you how much we were going to miss you!”</p><p>“She’s right, Cyril,” Claude added. “Like it or not, you were one of us this year. I’m going to miss our talks about your homeland and even the precious way you scowl. We had some good times, didn’t we?”</p><p>“Yeah...” Cyril replied, stopping to look up at Claude. “I guess I’ll miss ya too. Both of ya.”</p><p>Before Cyril could move to escape, he found himself being embraced from either side by both students. It was smothering, embarrassing, and entirely uncalled for, but he could not muster up the gall to chide them for it. Their faces seemed somber at the prospect of parting ways with him, so he graciously decided to pat their backs instead of kicking their shins.</p><p>
  <em> For as frustrating as the house leader could be, the boy couldn’t deny that Claude was a good man, an excellent planner, and annoyingly charismatic when the mood suited him. And then there was Hilda, whose well-intentioned honesty, unflappable cheer, and straight-faced idiocy made her far easier to talk to than the Gonerils he had known at the Locket. Cyril never expected to even think as much, but he would miss them and the other members of the Golden Deer as well. </em>
</p><p>“Perfect timing,” Claude said slyly, breaking the hug and tipping Cyril’s head to the left. “Your better half is just about done with Catherine. Go get her, kid.”</p><p>“Better half?” Cyril wondered aloud before Hilda shoved him towards the fallen log where Lysithea and Catherine were sitting together and talking. He stumbled a bit, but managed to catch his footing before shooting Claude and Hilda an irate glare.</p><p>
  <em> Perhaps he should’ve kicked their shins, after all. </em>
</p><p>“Well if it isn’t Cyril again,” came Catherine cheerfully. “You know, your friend here and I bear the same Crest. I didn’t know it myself until just a few months ago, but it brought us together quicker than either of us thought it might. We’re as thick as sisters now, aren’t we Lysithea?”</p><p>Lysithea smiled at Catherine and nodded, and Cyril noticed a silk bag of butterscotch candies clasped firmly in his friend’s hands. Catherine gave those out from time to time to hardworking students and polite children around the monastery, but no one ever got more than one from her at a time. Cyril mused to himself that he might have been jealous of Lysithea were he not happy for her instead.</p><p>
  <em> It was nice to see her smiling freely around other people. Everyone should get to see Lysithea smile at least once. </em>
</p><p>“That said, a good sister knows when she needs to make herself scarce,” the knight said, getting up and resting her hand comfortably on the pommel of Thunderbrand. “If you ever feel like writing to me, Lysithea, know that I try to stop through Charon Territory every once in a while. Garreg Mach’s not an option for now, so it looks like I’ll be falling back on my family’s good graces more than I’d like to be.”</p><p>“That’s good to know,” the girl responded cheerfully. “Just promise that you’ll never go back to the stuffy life of a noblewoman! You’ll always be Thunder Catherine to me!”</p><p>“You know it!” the Thunder Knight replied, waving as she walked off.</p><p>As soon as Catherine was gone, Cyril took her place next to Lysithea on the log and heaved a sigh. He was still unsure of where he went from here, whether or not he was going to follow Shamir’s advice, and even of what he wanted to say. All he knew for certain was that he needed to be here with her at the end.</p><p>“Hey, Lysithea…” he greeted weakly.</p><p>“Hey, Cyril,” she said back.</p><p>
  <em> That was his line. </em>
</p><p>An uncomfortable silence fell between the two friends for a short while before Lysithea broke it.</p><p>“Are you really going to make me say it?” she asked, not looking Cyril in the eyes as she spoke. “I think we both know what’s coming next.”</p><p>“...Yeah,” he gulped, already certain that she hated him for being so conflicted. “I didn’t mean to give ya any false hope or anything. If it was just me, I’d go with ya and not think a thing about it…”</p><p>“I know,” the girl replied with a sigh. “I honestly don’t know why I brought it up in the first place. It was unkind of me to make you feel as if you had to choose.”</p><p>“That’s not how I see it,” Cyril responded plainly, looking down at his own feet. “I’ve never had a lot of choices before. This one… it hurts, but I’m glad ya gave it to me. It makes me feel like if I… um, don’t make it to that unified front Claude was talking about, I could go out knowing I had a place somewhere. Y’know, I thought I didn’t belong anywhere without Lady Rhea, but turns out I was wrong.”</p><p>When Lysithea did not respond, Cyril believed he had said something terribly wrong. A second passed, and then another, and another, and so on. Each felt like its own brutal eternity. Figuring that this was his cue to go, Cyril put his hands on his knees to push himself up to his feet. He would say ‘goodbye’, find Shamir, and try his hardest not to look back. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder press him back down against the log and something soft and slightly damp press up against his cheek. Cyril’s eyes went wide, and as he turned to face Lysithea, he saw that smile he had come to like so well.</p><p>
  <em> Did she just…? </em>
</p><p>“Absolutely wrong,” the girl said, looking right back at him. “Now you and the Knights had better snap some sense into Dimitri on your way north, so we can rescue Lady Rhea and put all of this nonsense behind us. When we go back to Ordelia Territory together someday, I want to show my parents Professor Jeritza’s ridiculous helmet.”</p><p>“It is pretty stupid, isn’t it?” the boy replied, unable to keep himself from laughing. “Are ya gonna hang it above a fireplace somewhere like a boar’s head or maybe make a scarecrow outta it?”</p><p>“Neither. I might just have it made into a tea kettle,” Lysithea stated nonchalantly before her brave front began to crumble. “I’m going to miss you, Cyril...”</p><p>“I’ll miss ya too, Lysithea,” he repeated. “I wish I got around to learning to read and write. We won’t be able to keep up with each other.”</p><p>Lysithea knit her brows together the way she did when she was cooking up a plan, and Cyril saw that a solution had quickly come to her mind.</p><p>“Catherine,” she said hurriedly. “We’ll correspond through House Charon. I’ll send you charts and pictures to help you learn your letters, and you can send me things from wherever you’ve been. When you get your letters down well enough to write me back, we can keep up properly again. I’ll even overlook all of the spelling and grammatical mistakes you’re bound to make. Deal?”</p><p>True to form, Lysithea held out her hand. Cyril wasted no time at all gripping it in his and giving it a good shake, prompting a smile from either party.</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>As students, knights, monastery staff, and church acolytes continued to gather their things together and say their goodbyes, Cyril sat with Lysithea until the troops from House Daphnel arrived to collect those bound for the Alliance. There were no tears when the two friends parted ways, as both were confident they would be seeing more of each other in the near future. Instead, they ended on a hug and another handshake. Such was their way, and they were pleased to keep it as such. It was only after Cyril found his way back to Shamir’s side that the boy looked back fondly at the procession of Alliance nationals disappearing into the seemingly endless woods. </p><p>
  <em> Shamir was wrong; he wouldn’t regret this decision. He’d see Lysithea again in a few months, and they’d show the Empire just how fierce of a team they could be. By the time they got done with Edelgard and rescued Lady Rhea, Cyril would know that his debt to the Archbishop had been paid. He’d keep her company for a little while afterwards to see her through the worst of the post-war reconstruction, but he was resolved not to hold his breath waiting for her anymore. As much as he loved Lady Rhea, he knew she’d want him to be happy for his own sake too. Figuring out exactly what that looked like would be tough, but he was confident now that he’d never be alone in the finding. After all, he had a place in this world, and that much would be enough to keep him going in the months to come. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, it's officially been a year since I took my hiatus, and I'm pleased to have finished two chapters in one week.</p><p>This chapter is easily the longest and most dialogue-heavy yet, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. It represents a diverging of paths for our two protagonists, which will see them grow independent of each other for far longer than either of them bargained for. If you've played Fire Emblem: Three Houses, you'll probably know that this is where the timeskip begins. I personally don't care for the timeskip, so the next few chapters are going to focus on what happened in the time after Byleth disappeared. While this chapter marks the end of an era for the characters involved, I also wanted it to signal the beginning of their transition into adulthood. While it's obvious to pretty much everyone in the cast (and the audience as well) that Cyril and Lysithea care a great deal about each other, I think it's more consistent for their characters to navigate their ambitions before they fully process how much they mean to each other. To this end, I really enjoyed making it obvious to pretty much everyone in the cast BUT Cyril and Lysithea themselves that there's something there between the two. One final thing I wanted to say about this chapter was that I have been brainstorming Dimitri's role in Verdant Wind constantly since I picked this fic back up, and I wanted to give him a more significant role in the story starting here. Up until the Battle of Garreg Mach, Dimitri presents himself as the kind of person to fly under Cyril and Lysithea's radar, so I felt this was a good place to introduce him because his shift in demeanour would definitely turn a few heads (no decapitation joke intended).</p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it! Bappy Cysithea Week 2021!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Lysithea: Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1181</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lysithea looks to a promised star as she gathers her courage for hardships to come.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As candlelight shone bright against lacquered wood and a pleasant breeze blew in from an open window, night descended upon a particular residence by the river. Affairs at the manor had been relatively quiet for the day, with no news of any significance arriving from any of the Alliance’s other governing lords. Outside, the vast Airmid River rolled lazily down its natural course as frogs, crickets, and nightingales sang along with the rhythms of the water. At any other time, one might have called tonight a peaceful, picturesque evening in the County of Ordelia. In the present, however, it was merely a brief calm between the raucous and turbulent storms of war.</p><p>
  <em> Tonight was supposed to be the night, and she only had around two hours or so left, if her astronomy book was to be believed. After her break, she would need to write as much as she could before then so she could snuff out her candles and head out to the balcony in time to witness its arrival. The dark was still absolutely terrifying, but she didn’t have much of a choice; the Blue Sea Star was supposedly at its best with minimal light pollution, and she wasn’t about to miss its arrival this year. At least her bath had done the trick. </em>
</p><p>Lysithea kept her wits about her as she walked back to her bedchambers from the upstairs washroom. Her legs had been sore from sitting at her desk all day, and there were few things in life as rejuvenating as a hot bath, especially when one could use a simple variant of a fire spell to warm one’s own bathwater to perfection. With night having descended upon Ordelia Manor, a freshly-filled oil lantern was her salvation from the dark. </p><p>
  <em> ...But not from the room. One of the most frustrating things about her current bedchambers was that they were situated as close to the stairwell as possible. It was ideal for steering clear of her old bedroom on most occasions. In fact, she had chosen her new room herself when she turned seven. There was nothing inherently wrong with her old room. If her ironclad memory served correctly, it was no bigger nor any smaller than any other bedroom in the manor. Unfortunately, it was positively haunted with unsettling memories. And there it was... </em>
</p><p>The door to her old room was shut, and no light whatsoever shone from within it; the curtains had been drawn and it had been ages since anyone so much as lit a match in the old place. She supposed every bit of furniture inside was covered in sheets to keep the dust off, which did not help with her fear of ghosts. It had been almost nine years since she last stepped foot inside this room, and there was little reason to go back, especially on tonight of all nights. Instead of simply passing by the door as she usually did, however, Lysithea paused to look at it.</p><p>
  <em> It had been some while since she properly faced her fears. Cyril had been with her in the dark on the night of the White Heron Ball, and every one of her classmates had been by her side when they faced down Solon and those wicked people in black together. When was the last time she faced something frightening by herself, though? She could take a peek inside and be content with herself. If anything, it would be good practice for when she extinguished all of her lights later that evening to see her star. </em>
</p><p>Heaving a deep sigh, Lysithea placed a hand on the copper doorknob and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She twisted the knob slightly and pushed the door open even more slightly. There was no creaking of the hinges nor any other kind of ominous noise that followed; her parents were very thorough in the upkeep of their estate. Instead, the door effortlessly swung in to reveal exactly what Lysithea had expected to find there: her old bed, her old wardrobe, her old chest of drawers, her old mirror, and even a box of her old toys. Each was covered in plain, white sheets and each was exactly where she remembered they were. The curtains had been pulled closed to cover the windows, and the whole room smelled of dust.</p><p>
  <em> She remembered when a different scent lingered in the air here. It was less of a scent than a stench. A musty stench that burned and froze her nostrils all at the same time. She remembered how they all smelled like that. She remembered their black robes and beaked masks. She remembered how they lashed her to her bed and placed a wooden bit in her mouth to keep her from chewing off her own tongue. She remembered their knives, their spells, their voices in the dark, and how they siphoned her blood to ‘bless’ her with power. She remembered the first time she wanted to die... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Congratulations,’ she recalled the dulcet voice of a woman speaking to her. ‘You are the first of your kind. The first to bear two Crests. We knew there was an extra something special hiding in your blood besides the Crest you were born with, and it only took a few years and a couple little pokes to bring it out. You should be very proud of yourself; you’ve succeeded where so many others failed.’ </em>
</p><p>Eyes fixed on her old bed, Lysithea was practically glued to the floor. The skin on her arms was all gooseflesh, and she felt a tightening in her throat.</p><p>
  <em> ‘I’d say you have until the year… hm, maybe the year 1190 to get your personal affairs in order,’ she remembered the woman saying. Then, something seemingly new came to mind. ‘By then, my darling prototype, this nasty continent will be a very different place. Look forward to it, won’t you?’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She was only five when those wicked mages finally lost interest with her and vanished, but most every word that woman said was seared into her memory as if burned there by a red-hot branding iron… most every word but that last part. Was coming here a mistake? No… No, it wasn’t; her head didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had when those monstrous people’s deeds were still fresh in her mind. Most promisingly of all: she was furious, but surprisingly unafraid. </em>
</p><p>“I need to get back to work,” Lysithea grumbled to herself. Turning on her heel, the girl made for the door again before passing a last look over her shoulder. Her old room was as haunted as ever, but she had grown up enough to face it again. She had faced much worse in the years since.</p><p>
  <em> One day, she’d annihilate those people with the power they forced upon her. Using the very blood that was slowly killing her, Lysithea would someday ensure they’d never steal away anyone else’s future again. After all, they had done her the favour of siding with the Empire.  </em>
</p><p>Upon returning to her current bedchambers, the girl sat herself down at her desk and took a deep breath. She would have to settle her nerves before she got back to work. If she read fast and well, Lysithea reasoned that she could finish with just enough time to try to catch the emergence of the Blue Sea Star. As soon as she shook the worst of her nerves off, she dipped her quill pen in its inkwell and began to transcribe. She only had around two-hundred letters to go.</p><p>Suddenly, her ears perked to the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and then a sharp knock at her door.</p><p>“Lysithea?” came the kindly voice of a woman from outside the girl’s room. “Dear, are you still working in there? Come have some supper with us. Your father is only home from the capital one week out of the month, and he sent the cook home early to prepare that pheasant you like all by himself.”</p><p>“Could you save me some, Mother?” Lysithea responded as she continued to scribble away in her massive registry book. “I need to finish this before I go to bed tonight. You know how the war effort goes.”</p><p>The girl heard a sigh followed then by footsteps walking away from her door and descending the stairs. </p><p>
  <em> If Lysithea knew her mother at all, she’d probably bring her supper up for her. She knew Lysithea would feel guilty if she did, but that was likely the point; both her parents were deft politicians, and her mother wouldn’t concede a battle if she couldn’t win the war later. Lysithea would probably have to go to their room later that evening to kiss them both goodnight if she wanted to win back some ground. </em>
</p><p>Since returning home from Garreg Mach, Lysithea wasted no time in relieving some of the burden from her parents’ shoulders. While her father represented Ordelia at the Roundtable in Derdriu, her mother governed the county from within. Both had been relatively busy before the onset of the war, but the recent conflict complicated things. To do her own part, Lysithea took responsibility for rallying her people’s banners for the war effort. She worked with her mother to secure the county’s borders along the Airmid, pressured Claude into sending arms south from the capital’s armouries, and personally reached out to every town, village, and even farmstead within Ordelia borders. </p><p>
  <em> If she had a normal lifespan ahead of her, Lysithea figured that she might have had a promising future as a well-regarded countess someday. The life she was given, however, made her realise how fragile such systems were. Lords and ladies could be wise or foolish, kind or cruel, but they could never rule forever. Even if she lived to be a hundred years old as the finest countess Ordelia had ever known, there was no guarantee that the people who came after her would be as competent as she was or abide by her same principles.  </em>
</p><p>Suddenly, Lysithea heard her mother’s footsteps coming back up the stairs and the faint clattering of china against metal. The girl rolled her eyes as she got up from her desk to go to the door, and was unsurprised to see her earlier suspicions confirmed.</p><p>
  <em> It was hard being right all the time. </em>
</p><p>“Your supper, Lady von Ordelia,” her mother said teasingly once the door had been opened for her. The countess was holding a tray covered by a large, silver cloche, and by the way her thick, lavender hair rolled down her shoulders, her daughter deduced that she had only recently let it loose from the veil she normally wore in public. It was likely her mother had only retired from her own duties no less than an hour or so ago. </p><p>“Thank you, Dahlia. That will be all,” Lysithea teased back, tipping her nose up in an attempt to seem haughty. “Tell Oleander that I send my regards.”</p><p>“I’m afraid you take after him too well for me to get very far with that,” the woman sighed, the pink pupils of her eyes rolling in overly-exaggerated frustration. “No sooner do I go down there to eat with him, there he is: nose buried in his paperwork and quill pen scribbling away. I hope you weren’t planning on eating alone tonight, because I brought my meal up here as well.”</p><p>
  <em> That would explain the suspiciously large dining cloche.  </em>
</p><p>“You may have to wait a while before I actually tuck in,” the girl replied, eyeing the grandfather clock in the corner of her room. “I need to finish my work here before the hour’s up.”</p><p>“My, you’re in a rush,” Dahlia said, pushing past her daughter to let herself in. “New sleep schedule?”</p><p>“Not quite,” admitted Lysithea, a hint of apprehension in her voice. “Do you remember my letters from the Officer’s Academy? I promised someone there I would keep an eye out for a star tonight, so I’d like to free myself up to get a proper look at it again.”</p><p>“A star? And tonight, you say? Hm… Oh! You mean the Blue Sea Star! I do recall it <em> is </em>supposed to come out of hiding again tonight,” the countess wondered aloud. “But Lysithea, you’ve been terrified of the dark since… well, what happened after the Hrym Rebellion, and you need near-total darkness just to see the Star when it first appears. Surely you don’t intend to-”</p><p>“I do,” confirmed the girl. “Mind you, I’m still positively terrified of the dark, but this is a promise I don’t intend to break.”</p><p>“Well then, I suppose there’s nothing else for it,” her mother responded, setting aside the tray and guiding her by the hand towards her desk. “I’ll be helping you tonight, and I’ll not be taking any objections.”</p><p>“What are you- Mother! I can do this myself,” Lysithea protested. “Please stop treating me like a child!”</p><p>“Tut-tut, dear. ‘I’ll not be taking any objections’ means I’ll not be taking any objections,” Dahlia interjected, releasing Lysithea’s hand to sift through the girl’s paperwork. “My, you are thorough, Lysithea. How many of your letters have you received replies to?”</p><p>“Nearly all of them,” sighed the girl defeatedly, sitting down at her desk. “Though the number of enlistees is a fraction of what I’d hoped for so far. They see the Empire as too great a foe to bring down, even with the Kingdom and Knights of Seiros by their side, and it’s obvious to anyone that there will be friction within the Alliance if Duke Oswald’s health takes a turn for the worse. And then there are the merchant guilds...”</p><p>“You’re reading each letter individually?” asked the countess incredulously, motioning to the mountainous pile of creased papers her daughter had already gone through. “Why ever would you do that?”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I?” Lysithea asked back. “When I’m… When our affairs are settled and we dissolve House Ordelia, our people will need to be able to know how to choose leaders who will take their best interests to heart. How can we expect them to learn that if we ourselves don’t listen?”</p><p>Dahlia did not respond save for pursing her lips, closing her eyes, and exhaling sharply through her nose. People occasionally compared her and her mother in appearance for their sharp features and short stature, and she supposed they looked more alike when they were dissatisfied than on any other occasion. It was evident that this was not a fond line of conversation for the countess. Lysithea’s situation had never been a fond line of conversation in the Ordelia household.</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea knew she’d feel bad for invoking that topic to get her point across, but her mother had too much momentum to hear her out properly otherwise. Still… she couldn’t think of a position less enviable than the one her parents were in… not even her own. In ten years - if she was lucky enough to make it that long - the family her parents had built together would dwindle down to just the two of them. In ten years, they will have had to bury four girls, one boy, and any hope of being grandparents. That was why Lysithea had to be harsh with them at times like this; she had to make sure her parents’ lives would be comfortable and peaceful for them after she was gone. </em>
</p><p>“You still have much to learn,” her mother said pointedly. “Lead them through danger in times of war, and listen to their needs in times of peace. You’ll not get very far by trying to do everything at once at any given time.”</p><p>“P-Pardon?” the girl asked, surprised at how quick the countess was in attempting to take back control of the situation. “What does that have to do with-”</p><p>“You’re a fast reader, Lysithea,” Dahlia continued, “but not an efficient one. If you want to get through these in time to see your star, I’d advise you to get your quill pen out now and allow me to dictate for you. We’ll be focusing strictly on names, yes-or-no answers, and committed numbers of soldiers and horses. Do I make myself clear?”</p><p>
  <em> Efficiency. Her mother was right; Lysithea had gotten so wrapped up in trying to set an example that she had lost track of her most precious resource: time. Now it seemed that she’d have to swallow some pride if she hoped to get it back in time to finish her task and keep her promise. </em>
</p><p>Lysithea managed a stunned nod before dipping her pen in its inkwell. “Crystal clear.”</p><p>“Good,” her mother responded, smiling as she picked up a letter from Lysithea’s sack of unopened parcels. “Now where were you? Oh, the elder in Fleance Village? Let’s see… He and his people are willing to commit twenty-seven soldiers and four horses.”</p><p>Lysithea wrote down exactly what her mother had asked her to, and was finished in time for the countess to begin opening the next letter. They continued on like this for some while before the grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck thirty minutes to the hour the Blue Sea Star was supposed to reappear.</p><p>“And last but not least among your letters is Edgar Fortress,” Dahlia practically sang, her voice heavy with relief. “Lord von Edgar is going to give you half of the men he has garrisoned at his fortress, a hundred horses, and he’s pledged to hire a company of a hundred sellswords to the Alliance’s cause. It seems your godfather is as generous as always, young lady. You did well to write to him directly.”</p><p>The girl smiled as she wrote down the information, setting aside her pen afterwards and shaking out her hand. “You did well to name a rich old man with no heirs as my godfather. He’s so broody! I got almost as much mail from him during my time at the Academy as I did from you and father!”</p><p>“Well, he and his husband always wanted children, but were always too afraid to adopt,” her mother replied, returning to her tray and removing the silver lid. “Hm. Lukewarm. I suppose there’s no helping it. It should still be quite good; if your father was around more, we’d have no need for the cook at all.”</p><p>
  <em> Derdriu-style fried pheasant! One of her favourites!  </em>
</p><p>Lysithea kept a careful eye on the clock as she made her way to her mother’s side on the bed to sit down and happily dig into her plate. </p><p>“Lukewarm or not, this is delicious!” she marvelled after swallowing her first bite. “Did father pick up the recipe on his last trip to the capital?”</p><p>“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” came the voice of a man from the doorway. “I was wondering where you two ran off to. My word, did you get through all of those?”</p><p>The man, thin of face and always a bit somber-looking, gestured to the colossal stack of letters sitting beside Lysithea’s desk. The girl nodded proudly; her mouth too full of food to give him a spoken answer.</p><p>“You ought to be proud of our daughter, Oleander,” the countess commented with a smile. “In just four months, she’s gotten ahold of three-thousand four-hundred soldiers and seven-hundred and seventy-six horses.”</p><p>“Three-thousand four-hundred and <em> nine </em>soldiers,” Lysithea corrected, smiling wickedly. “We may not be the Gloucesters in terms of numbers nor the Gonerils in terms of fighting ability, but our people love us.”</p><p>“Our people love <em> you </em>,” Dahlia countered. “What kind of noblewoman personally writes to every fief lord, village elder, merchant guild leader, and chief farmer in her domain to ask them to take up arms in a full scale war against the Empire?”</p><p>“The kind who cares,” answered the girl’s father, approaching her to plant a soft kiss onto the top of her head. “I am so very proud of you, Lysithea.” When she looked up at him, he smiled so sincerely for her that it filled the girl with such pride she could not help smiling back at him. For as thin a man as Oleander was and for how sad he could look from time to time, Lysithea maintained that her father had a wonderful smile. He continued, “Though, I must ask: could this not have waited until after supper? It’s hardly very late right now, but your supper has surely gone cold.”</p><p>“Oh darling, I do hate having to catch you up,” sighed the countess, noticing that her daughter’s mouth was full again. “Lysithea has made a vow to watch the Blue Sea Star come out tonight, even if it means braving the dark to see it. She and I got through all of these letters so she could keep her promise without having to worry about any outstanding obligations… which brings me to this.”</p><p>Reaching to the bottom of the now, seemingly-empty mail sack Lysithea’s letters were in, Dahlia produced a small, shabby wooden box tied up with a bit of twine. The countess inspected it in the light for a short while before offering it to her daughter. “Here. It appears to have been sent from House Charon, but it bears a signet seal from one of the Knights of Seiros. You did say you were friends with Thunderstrike Cassandra, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Thunder Catherine,” Lysithea corrected again, putting down her fork and accepting the parcel. “Barring Thunderbrand, she renounced everything - including her old name - when the Western Church falsely implicated her in the Tragedy of Duscur. She goes by Catherine these days. But yes, we’re very good friends.”</p><p>Inspecting the box, Lysithea felt that it was surprisingly light. She fumbled with the lid for a while before resorting to her envelope knife. After a bit of prying, she managed to wiggle the lid loose from the top of the box to find a bit of parchment and something inside of a balled-up wad of packing paper.</p><p>“Another letter?” her father asked amusedly, running a hand through his inky black hair. “Thunder Catherine could have sufficed with a simple envelope.”</p><p>“Go ahead and read it, dear,” her mother added.</p><p>Lysithea withdrew the parchment and straightened it out a bit before doing as she was told. </p><p>“Dear Lysithea,” she read aloud, “How’s my sweet little sister? Are you still having laundry issues with your Crest? The Goddess knows I am. Just the other day, I made the mistake of mentioning my little problem within earshot of Hanneman and, predictably, he wanted to test it. Needless to say, it began raining as soon as I hung everything up to dry. Hanneman desperately wants to test it again, but Gilbert won’t let him. I can’t say I blame him; the rains up north are prone to freezing, and we’ve got some march ahead of us.”</p><p>When she paused for a moment in between paragraphs, she noticed the perplexed looks on her parents’ faces and giggled quietly under her breath.</p><p>
  <em> She’d have to fully explain her sisterly relationship with the knight and the Crest-related laundry phenomena to them later. What a story that would be... </em>
</p><p>“As you may have noticed,” she continued to read, “this came in a box instead of an envelope. You have Cyril to thank for that. Whenever I sit down to write, he comes waltzing on by to ask if I’m writing to you. Your little…”</p><p>
  <em> ‘Your little boyfriend’! Oh, how embarrassing! Cyril was no such thing! He was just a boy who happened to be her friend! Her best friend! That was it! Why was Lysithea justifying it to herself in her head like this? What a silly thing to get worked up over! In any case, she could omit a thing or two from the letter if she was clever enough to keep it away from her parents’ prying eyes later on. </em>
</p><p>“...friend has been asking me to send this to you since he made it, and who am I to refuse?” Lysithea carried on as smoothly as she could. “After all, what are big sisters for? This letter will probably reach you long after we’ve passed through my family’s territory, so we’ll likely be in Fhirdiad by the time you get it. If you get the chance to write back, know that Duke Rufus has very kindly offered to put the Knights of Seiros up in the royal palace until we’re all ready to head back down south and give the Empire hell. Until then, I hope you’re keeping well and look forward to seeing you thrash the enemy again. Signing off, Catherine.”</p><p>Without passing her parents a second glance, the girl reached into the box and fished out the item wrapped in packing paper. Cyril was never especially good at wrapping things, but Lysithea always appreciated the sentiment. Inside was a round, well-worn tin container.</p><p>“Oh... boot blackener,” Oleander said, rubbing the coarse stubble on his chin as he cleared his throat nervously. “How very… considerate.”</p><p>“It isn’t boot blackener,” Lysithea sighed, attempting to unscrew the lid. “This old thing is much too light for that.”</p><p>With a final determined tug, the lid came off with a pop and Lysithea smelled something pleasantly fragrant. Inside was a collection of dried flowers and leaves, tiny pinecones, and woodchips.</p><p>“Look at that,” Dahlia chimed in approvingly, “A winter potpourri. Or rather, a potpourri of northern plants. Did Catherine say your friend made this? These take some work to get done well, you know?”</p><p>“Hm,” her father hummed, leaning in slightly to inspect the contents of Lysithea’s gift. “I smell… peppermint, pine, lemon oil, and… is that orris root? That’s rather clever; a binder and a scent all in one. My, your friend knows his craft well.”</p><p>“Cyril is a remarkably hard worker,” the girl mused fondly, “and a great friend too…”</p><p>
  <em> Cyril was a great friend; he sent something over the first chance he got and he kept their deal… Their deal! </em>
</p><p>Lysithea quickly turned her attention to the clock in the corner, and hopped up from the bed to set down her tin of potpourri from Cyril. Dahlia caught a glimpse of the time as well and followed suit before turning to her husband. </p><p>“Oleander, go downstairs and quench all of the lanterns!” the countess commanded. “Be quick about it, please!”</p><p>“Oh, er… yes, dear!” the count replied, making to head out before stopping at the doorway. “But the dark, my love! Lysithea is-”</p><p>“Not a child any longer, dearest,” Dahlia interrupted as she and Lysithea began to snuff out the candles in her room. “Down you go now!”</p><p>The count did as he was ordered and scrambled down the stairs as the girl and her mother saw to the last of her candles. As soon as they were finished, they hurried for the balcony outside of her room and were greeted by the warm summer air. Lysithea looked down below her and saw the lights in the lower level of the manor darken one-by-one until the only light that remained was the pale light of the moon. </p><p>
  <em> As long as Lysithea kept the moon in her line of sight, her surroundings wouldn’t seem so dark. Oh, how utterly childish that sounded! Yes, she had a better reason than most to be frightened of the dark, even at her age, but there was no helping how it looked. At least it was just her parents here with her tonight… </em>
</p><p>“Let’s see here… My, it’s been ages since I’ve looked for the saints in the stars,” she heard her mother say beside her. “Cihol and his lance, Cethleann and her staff, Indech and his bow, Macuil and his sword, and.. ah, there’s Saint Seiros and her shield.”</p><p>“And there's the Goddess beside her!” Lysithea piped in. “Do you see that cluster of stars on Seiros’s left? If you tilt your head slightly, you’ll see they form the head of a dragon… or was it a wing? Regardless, I’m told the Goddess was never far from Saint Seiros’s side.”</p><p>
  <em> This seemed… very familiar.  </em>
</p><p>“Is that so? I suppose that makes sense,” Dahlia said, inching up near Lysithea and warmly embracing the girl from behind. “After all, a daughter is never far from her mother’s thoughts.”</p><p>“Mother,” the girl pretended to protest. “I thought you told Father I wasn’t a child.”</p><p>“I did and I meant it, but you will always be <em> my </em>child,” she countered. “Now, I’ll hear no more fussing. Keep an eye on the northwest, and you’re sure to spot it.”</p><p>Lysithea rolled her eyes and followed her mother’s instructions. She might have offered the countess a more sincere show of resistance were it not so dark and her mother’s embrace not so genuinely comforting.</p><p>
  <em> Where exactly was it last year when it disappeared? Perhaps she could retrace her steps… She and Cyril had walked north beyond the cathedral and stopped just short of the Goddess Tower in the west… And right before she tried to ask him to go in there with her, which was now mortifying to think back on, he had pointed out the star just west of Cihol… Or was it north of Cihol? Or was she thinking of Cethleann? The answer did not come as easily as she might have hoped it would, but the two constellations were close enough in proximity that she could watch them both with relative ease. </em>
</p><p>And then in the blackness of the starry night sky, it appeared. At first, it looked like a pinprick in a drawn curtain. In the moment, it was so insignificant that Lysithea wondered if she was looking at the right star. Then it began to grow in size, and then in luminosity. Within seconds, it shimmered in a brilliant sapphire blue that put every, individual star in the night sky to shame. Wrapped in her mother’s arms, Lysithea soaked in the brilliance of the sight and allowed herself to forget about how dark the rest of the world seemed.</p><p>“You know, Lysithea, your mother and I haven’t seen the Blue Sea Star come out here since before all of those bitter days began,” she heard her father say as he approached. The tall, thin man draped a blanket over his wife and daughter before leaning against the guardrail beside them to look up at the sky. “After what happened then, you were always too frightened to be without at least a few candles in your room, even as you slept. This may be the first time since you were not much more than an infant that I’ve been with you in near-total darkness. If you don’t mind me asking… what changed?”</p><p>
  <em> What had changed? Even as a prodigy of the Officer’s Academy and a powerful mage, Lysithea remained so afraid of the dark that she’d regularly go to sleep each night with an oil lantern on in her room. Even here, in her mother’s arms and with her father standing watch, the darkness around them might have rendered her a quivering mess were it not for the helpful, blue light shining just up above. What was it about the Blue Sea Star that put her so at ease? What changed? </em>
</p><p>“I think I changed,” answered Lysithea, not turning from the star. “When I left home to start at the Officer’s Academy, my only intention was to gain the skills and the connections I’d need to restore our land and eventually relinquish our claim to nobility. I thought that if I could do that, I could die in peace knowing I had done enough. Somewhere along the way, though… I began to want more out of my life. I wanted to read more, travel more, see new things and try new sweets, spend more time with you and my friends… I began to want to live before I die. When I think about the promise I made on that star, I think of how alive I felt when I made it and how I’d like to feel that alive everyday.”</p><p>An air of silence fell upon the family as soon as the girl finished speaking. When she looked to her father, she saw how the moonlight and shadows obscured his deep-set eyes, making his melancholic expression seem all the sadder. She then passed a brief glance up at her mother to see that the countess’s eyelashes had gotten damp since they had come outside together. </p><p>“How I wish your friend could have come to stay a while,” Oleander sighed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I remember pouring over all of the letters you wrote about him and the others. Your mother and I were delighted for you.”</p><p>Dahlia chuckled softly in response. “Heh, quite so. As much as we love you, dear, you are terribly fierce when the mood strikes you and impossibly stubborn to boot. When we heard that you made friends with someone equally fierce and stubborn, we were afraid we’d be hearing back from the Archbishop about the trouble you might have gotten yourselves into. It was a relief to know that you were able to temper each other instead. I hope you appreciate how lucky you two were to have each other last year.”</p><p>
  <em> Though Lysithea fancied herself a walking encyclopaedia and a magical savant, she could not immediately understand why her parents reacted the way they did. They seemed as sad as they ever had in one moment, and sounded joyful and almost teasing the next. And why were they so fixated on Cyril? When she thought about what she had said to them a bit more, it suddenly clicked: this was what her parents had wanted for her from the start, wasn’t it? Friendships, adventures… embarrassingly obvious crushes… They were all parts of childhood Lysithea was willing to forego to see her ultimate goals through. As two people who had been beaten down by the heavy cost of their political decisions in the past, they might have been glad to settle House Ordelia’s affairs and renounce their nobility to live quiet, peaceful lives in the future… As two parents, however, all they probably wanted was to see their remaining child live as full and as happy a life as she could. It made her wonder: were these desires for her future mutually exclusive? </em>
</p><p>“We were quite lucky, weren’t we?” Lysithea said fondly, looking back up at the Blue Sea Star. “If first impressions meant anything at all, I’m not sure we would have been friends. He said we lived in different worlds shortly after our first real interaction, but he was wrong about that; we were really quite the same. Both of us were perfectly content to simply go down the paths in life we set for ourselves.”</p><p>“Not to mention your fiery tempers, your sharp-tongues, and your frightening work ethics,” the countess mused to her daughter’s embarrassment. “And let’s not forget your shared distaste for the Gautier boy.”</p><p>“Okay, Mother!” the girl snapped before shaking her head and sighing. “Though I suppose one thing he said that day was true: our time together couldn’t last forever…”</p><p>
  <em> He still didn’t know how right he was there. </em>
</p><p>“You know, Lysithea, you ought to write back to thank him for the potpourri,” Dahlia said, “and to tell him you kept your end of the promise by coming out to see the Blue Sea Star tonight. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to hear back from you.”</p><p>“Indeed,” hummed her father, looking out into the night. “Word is that we have until the end of the Horsebow Moon before the Kingdom and the Knights of Seiros begin marching south for the Empire. If you don’t write young Cyril back soon, I’m afraid what you do send won’t reach Fhirdiad before the fighting begins.”</p><p>“About that…” the girl gulped. “I… spent some time in my old room earlier to think about things. Do you remember me mentioning Solon and Kronya in my letters to you some while ago? Well, their allies aren’t just supporting the Empire from the shadows; they might have been behind a number of things there over the last few years. In my room, I remembered something one of them called me. I didn’t know what the word meant at the time, and I’d forgotten until just today, but she said I was their ‘prototype’. Mother, Father… You know what that means, don’t you?”</p><p>By her father’s body language and her mother’s stillness, the girl didn’t need to guess hard to see that they knew exactly what it meant. It meant that Lysithea wasn’t the only person out there with two Crests.</p><p>
  <em> Did that mean Edelgard truly was…? </em>
</p><p>“It means the war against the Empire is a war against ourselves,” Oleander said ruefully. “The enemy… our enemy is pitting their victims against one another. To what end?”</p><p>“Does it matter?” Dahlia groaned. “They need to be dragged out of the shadows and stopped. This can’t be allowed to continue.”</p><p>“It won’t,” responded Lysithea. “With the Kingdom, the Church, and the Alliance fighting together, we will root them out and bring them down. I can’t go knowing they’re still out there.”</p><p>While her mother concurred wholeheartedly, Lysithea noticed some hesitation from her father. When the countess noticed it as well, she confronted him with a nudge. The count remained speechless and even turned away from his family, which prompted Lysithea to snap at him. </p><p>“Father, what is it?!”</p><p>He let out a weary sigh, and relented.</p><p>“It’s the Gloucesters,” Oleander admitted gravely. “Count Gloucester will be the first to break ranks when Duke Oswald dies. I’ve heard whispers that Acheron - that petty Weathervane who calls himself a lord - has spoken of opening the Great Bridge of Myrddin to the Empire when the moment is right, with or without the Gloucesters’ blessing. I brought this up last week at the Roundtable, but I was told that whispers are not sufficient evidence to condemn a man to a traitor’s death. If those whispers ring true, though, it would open up Gloucester territory to the Empire… and it isn’t as if Count Gloucester would offer much resistance. His opinion on your friend, Claude, is tenuous at best and he’s likely to jump ship with Acheron to gain a favourable position in the Emperor’s court. I fear that if the Gloucesters aren’t shackled to the united front by marching on the Empire before Duke Oswald passes away, the Alliance will be facing a civil war in the midst of the Imperial invasion.”</p><p>Lysithea felt a chill creep up her spine as her father spoke, and the light of the Blue Sea Star no longer felt as comforting as it had before when he stopped. Claude’s grandfather had been on his last leg since the onset of the war, and it was only a matter of time before the Alliance came tumbling down around them. </p><p>
  <em> Suddenly, all of her plans for the future were hanging by a frayed thread. </em>
</p><p>“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” her mother asked.</p><p>“I was going to tell you both in the morning. I… I just wanted our daughter to enjoy tonight,” her father answered. “The meal, my leave from Derdriu, the supposed lack of correspondence from the other lords… even the paperwork that brought you upstairs. I knew from her letters that the star was important to her, and I wanted to give her one night to continue to dream...”</p><p>The girl opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea desperately wanted to say that she wasn’t done dreaming. She wanted to convince her parents that Claude had the political acumen to keep the Alliance together. She wanted to believe that she would get to see Cyril again. But none of that seemed like the truth anymore. An old man would die, and so many dreams would die with him. Her mother and father were embracing her now, telling her they would support whichever direction forward she wished to take, but for the first time since those awful mages had her in their clutches… she saw no path forward. Only the path down. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is the first chapter of Cyril and Lysithea's 5 years apart, and it's a doozy. In truth, it's really where I begin to raise the stakes of this story. While the Battle of Garreg Mach was an intense moment in time, I wanted this chapter to really hammer home the implications of the war and all of its inciting political events. At the same time, though, I didn't want to make it a total downer. Introducing Lysithea's parents was a fun way to bridge some of the lighter moments of the timeskip with some of the more heavy, political issues, and I wanted to give you guys an idea of where Lysithea herself gets some of her moxie. Her mum, Dahlia, is very straightforward and snappy, but very caring at the same time. On the other hand, Lysithea's dad, Oleander, seems like a bit of a pushover, but is really much more thoughtful and in-command than he lets on. Finally, we also get a look into Lysithea's past and some of what happened to her. I thought of making a flashback or dream sequence to fully flesh this out, but I eventually decided that an extended torture sequence on a 5 year old might have been a little tonally inappropriate. </p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it, and maybe consider sharing it around if you feel like someone you know might enjoy it! I'm working on Chapter 12 right now and... it is really dismal. Look forward to it, won't you?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Cyril: Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1181</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Cyril considers his past and present circumstances, they lead him to a grim revelation about his future.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>MPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective (I wanted this one to be perfect before I published it, and I couldn't think of anyone I trusted more to help me make that happen). A bonus shoutout to some friends I have offline who helped me with the Farsi I used as a stand-in for Almyran in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As sunlight shone weakly against chilly cobblestone and an icy breeze blew in from a barred window, daybreak rose upon a particular fortress in the mountains. Many of the others were beginning to stir from their sleep at this time, and the workday ahead promised to be no different from the day before. Each child in the paddocks got up from the piles of hay they called their beds, slipped into their work clothes, and filed into an orderly line to receive their morning rations. There was no need for shackles in this place and little prompting necessary to inform the servants here that it was time to break their fasts and get to work. After all, it was an impenetrable fortress that whole armies had broken themselves against. What hope could a few children in rags have to escape?</p><p>Khalil stretched himself out in the sunlight before slipping into his robe and sandals. The wound on his forehead still stung from the night before and he had to force himself not to touch the bandages. It would likely get itchy later that day if the sun got much stronger, and picking at it was a good way to come down with a sickness.</p><p>
  <em> Talking back to that Goneril lord was stupid, but Khalil never could control his tongue when he was mad. It would get him killed someday, he was sure. Yesterday, a misplaced slap with the flat end of a sword… and tomorrow, a well-aimed strike with the sharp end. Maybe it would be quick. He was sick of hearing these people’s stupid voices, sick of hearing them call him a ‘heathen’ or a ‘devil rider’. He didn’t want the last thing he’d hear to be a group of people gathered around him, spitting slurs and fussing before someone came to finish him with a spear. Dying quick and quiet was the best he could hope for. The other servant children weren’t much better. A lot of them wasted time at night wishing that General Nader or even the King would come and save them from the Locket. What good would that do? They’d be trading one life of servitude for the next. Their commanders forced them to fight. They were kids, but kids who could fire a bow or ride an azhi were expected to fight in the army, same as the adults. The Almyrans and the Gonerils were pretty much the same as far as Khalil could see. They both fought each other for the sake of fighting each other, even at the expense of kids like him. </em>
</p><p>The young boy reached into his hay bed, fished out the wooden bowl he was given here about a year ago, and stared into the bottom of it. Breaking fast was supposed to be one of the highlights of his day, but he could scarcely imagine a day in his life worth highlighting. Though he could not remember many things from before his parents died, he liked to imagine that their life together was decent. They moved from place to place as their platoon took them, and Khalil had grown up all over Almyra as a result. He learned to shoot a bow, sit in the saddle of an azhi, and speak the common tongue as well as he could speak Almyran. When they died, he remembered being sad, but not devastated; his parents’ commander would not allow it. The commander himself would die too, and Khalil mourned him even less. </p><p>
  <em> Khalil would have died on the mountainside with the others if the enemy hadn’t taken him in. They called it a kindness, but he had grown up wise to what it was like to belong to other people. They didn’t like the word ‘slave’, but it was the truth. They forbade him from speaking Almyran, from shooting a bow, and from even touching an azhi. He wasn’t even allowed to call them that anymore. To the Gonerils, they were ‘wyverns’. How stupid that sounded. </em>
</p><p>“Oi! You hear me, heathen boy?” a gravelly voice barked sharply. “Return yer spoon when you’ve finished. Got it?”</p><p>“Yes,” he responded, snapping out of his own mind and looking down into his bowl. It was nearly filled to the brim this morning with the sweet, soupy stew the westerners called ‘porridge’. “Thank you, Cookie.”</p><p>
  <em> That was unusually kind, even for Cookie. The big man might have been a western cook, but he didn’t treat Khalil or the others like Ronald and the other Gonerils did. Of course, he didn’t treat them great either, but he was still the kindest westerner Khalil had ever met. </em>
</p><p>“There’s a good boy,” the plump cook replied. “Mind yer manners and yer mouth with Ronald next time ‘round. He may be the poncy son of some lesser Goneril lord, but he and his kin’re only running the Locket till Lord Holst returns from the east. Lord Holst may be a crusader, but he treats you heathen folk like people, he does. Keep up yer work and shut yer mouth until the master comes home.” Cookie leaned in and whispered, “Do that and you might just get yer freedom back.”</p><p>
  <em> Khalil wasn’t quite sure what freedom was. </em>
</p><p>The boy nodded and went off to eat his food. Using a spoon still felt strange to him, but he had adjusted to it far faster than most of the other orphans at the Locket. The porridge went down well enough, and Khalil returned his spoon to Cookie before he went off to his shift. It was ironic that Almyran orphans were put to work in making repairs to the very fortress that orphaned them in the first place, but the Gonerils justified it by telling them that they could become stonemasons someday. </p><p>
  <em> Khalil wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but at least the mortar would be wet and pleasantly cool in the hot afternoon air later that day. He was grateful he wasn’t older or bigger than he was; he didn’t think he’d have the strength to lift those big slabs of stone. </em>
</p><p>Well into his shift that day, Khalil heard a trumpet in the distance. He thought about what the cook told him, but quickly grounded his expectations when he realised that the trumpet was coming from the Goneril side of the border. Before he could return to work, however, the overseer rushed over to instruct him and all the other servants to clean themselves up and head back into the fortress. When he got inside the Locket, he thought he saw Ronald’s younger brothers saying a prayer together.</p><p>
  <em> Whoever Lord Holst was, he wasn’t the one coming to visit today. Still… the one who was must have been pretty important to get the Gonerils as worked up as they were. Now, they were making the servants wash their bodies with soap and change into fresh clothes and shoes. Khalil wasn’t sure yet, but they might have been preparing them for sacrifice. The word was that the Gonerils and all the others who lived west of the Locket worshipped some kind of Great White Beastie. Khalil didn’t believe in any beastie he had never seen before, but whatever it was the Gonerils looked to must have given them some kind of strength. Now the question stood: if the Great White Beastie really was coming, was he to be its entertainment or its lunch? </em>
</p><p>“Good day, my little heathens! I’ve special instructions for you! You are all to be as statues today,” Ronald instructed as he strutted into the hall where Khalil and the other servants were changing. The lord had silky, pink hair, a dimpled chin, an athletic frame, and a wicked look on his face. “If I hear so much as a peep or see so much as a wiggle, I will take you out and whip you to the bone myself. Am I clear on that?”</p><p>No one in the room dared to respond, and the lord smiled. “Excellent response. You all have such wonderful statue voices. Today, little ornaments, we have the privilege of entertaining the highest authority in the land.”</p><p>
  <em> It seemed like Khalil-kebabs were off the menu today. </em>
</p><p>“Though her arrival came unannounced, the Archbishop has apparently heard many a story of Fódlan’s Locket and wished to inspect the fortress for herself,” Ronald continued. “I will personally be giving the Archbishop and her entourage a tour of the facilities, while you are to stand in the foyer and look pleasant. You heathens are to stand perfectly still with your hands folded at your laps and your mouths shut as if I had sewn them shut myself. Why, you may smile for her if it pleases you, but no more than that. Look like you love your lives here, because your lives here may well be over if you don’t. If the Archbishop is pleased with what she sees today, you will all be rewarded with a very special treat: meat in your supper tonight.”</p><p>The others looked around at each other with wide eyes. None of them had any meat since they were brought to the Locket, and it was a much missed component of their homeland’s diet. The Goneril lord took their stunned expressions and compliant silence as his cue.</p><p>“I’m glad we understand each other,” he said, mirth evident in his voice. “Now go out there and be good, happy little statues, won’t you? We want to impress the Archbishop.”</p><p>As Khalil made to head out with the others, something long and hard snapped in front of him, stopping him dead in his tracks. He had seen this cane the night before, and did not easily forget the secret blade hidden within.</p><p>“You. Heathen boy with the tongue. Stand still for me,” Ronald snarled, circling Khalil like a panther. Khalil did not dare to move as the lord loomed high over him and touched his face with a soft hand. The boy could tell that his lord had obviously never worked a day in his life. Cruel Ronald’s fingers gently traced their way up Khalil’s cheek and up to his brow before abruptly ripping off the boy’s bandages. Blood seeped down Khalil’s face and Ronald cringed at him. “Take a moment to clean up again and hide your wound with your hair. Go to the back of the group and find someone tall to stand behind. If the Archbishop approaches you, keep your head down and do not let her see. I’d hide you away or kill you if I had the time or the patience to do so, but I can’t take risks. With the Archbishop’s blessing, I could have my brute of a cousin declared dead or AWOL, take this place for my own, and secure my role as the new Duke Goneril. He may have a sister with a Crest, not that you’d know what that is, but the girl is so lazy and stupid that she’d likely be glad to let me keep the Locket for her. Remember that I have the power to make your life here very comfortable or very painful. Now be a good heathen boy, and I’ll forget your prior insolence and even reward you with a tasty chicken. Sounds like a plan, doesn’t it?”</p><p>
  <em> He sure liked the sound of his own voice, didn’t he? It all might’ve sounded like a plan to a dog, but Khalil wasn’t a dog; he was a boy. To a boy’s ears, it sounded like a threat… A threat Ronald was probably all too happy to follow up on. Going along with his scheme would be a pain, but there wasn’t much other choice here.  </em>
</p><p>“Yes, milord,” Khalil said quietly, looking past the lord’s cane to the floor below him.</p><p>Ronald snickered and lifted his cane to rest it against his shoulder before leaving Khalil to his task. The boy made his way to a trough of water and looked into his reflection. The cut was deep and long, but nothing he could not hide. He wetted his hair, parted it down the middle, and swept a good portion over the right side of his forehead. When he looked back down into the trough, it was as if it were never there in the first place.</p><p>
  <em> A bit of chicken did sound a lot better than getting whipped to death. </em>
</p><p>Khalil walked into the foyer where the others were already standing in two rows, perfectly still like the little statues Ronald told them to be. The boy found a place in the back row behind an older, taller girl whose face - he believed - was just pretty enough to distract the Archbishop when she came to inspect them. After about a minute of standing around, Ronald and his rotten brothers walked into the foyer and stood in front of the servants to welcome the westerners from the Church. Two guards then stepped up to the front doors and pulled them open, flooding the room with light. Khalil dared not to shield his eyes with his hands for fear of invoking Ronald’s wrath, and so he merely squinted until the doors closed behind the mysterious visitors.</p><p>The two in front were unlike any people Khalil had ever seen before. Like the Gonerils, their skin was fair and their features were soft. Unlike the Gonerils, though, their hair and eyes were as green as winter mint. They wore fine robes and carried themselves the way Khalil imagined the King of Almyra carried himself. Above all else, though: these people seemed every bit as bright as the light that was let in with them.</p><p>
  <em> There was no Great White Beastie just yet, but these people from the Church didn’t seem totally human. They were too… put-together to be ordinary people. Ordinary people had blemishes or scars on their skin, walked a little funny, had at least some slightly uneven features, or hunched over a tiny bit when they stood. These people weren’t like that at all; they looked like pictures of people. They even made the Goneril brothers, who were about as handsome on the outside as they were ugly on the inside, look like apes by comparison. Khalil wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by or afraid of them, but his eyes weren’t leaving them until they were gone. </em>
</p><p>“Are you Lord Holst?” the strange woman asked, seemingly gliding over the cobblestone floor towards Ronald.</p><p>The lord immediately dropped to a knee and bowed his head before the woman.</p><p>“No, Your Grace,” he answered reverently. “My lord cousin went over the border over a year ago to bring the war east to the heathens himself. They say he sought to challenge Nader the Undefeated in single combat, but he has not been back since.”</p><p>“I see,” the woman replied. “And you are?”</p><p>“Marquis Ronald Goneril,” answered the unpleasant lord, “and these are my brothers, Fil-”</p><p>“Thank you, Ronald,” she interrupted, her immaculate tone never wavering. “But I’m afraid I’m not here for social purposes.”</p><p>
  <em> Khalil wanted to smile at Ronald’s humiliation, but staring straight ahead at it was good enough for now. The Archbishop or whoever she was didn’t even know Ronald existed. He got mad enough to hit Khalil with a sword for saying he was nothing to the Almyran brass, and now it looked like he was nothing to the highest power in the west too. </em>
</p><p>“Those children behind you,” the strange woman continued, gesturing to Khalil and the other servants. “They’re Almyran war orphans, correct?”</p><p>The tall man beside her narrowed his eyes and walked past Ronald to inspect the children, and Khalil remembered what the lord told him to do. As stilly as he possibly could, the boy tried to obscure his presence behind the girl in front of him, quietly praying to whatever god or spirit that would hear him that the green-haired man would simply pass him by. </p><p>“Y-Yes, Your Grace,” Ronald replied, trying hard to mask his nervousness, “Each of them were left to their deaths after the heathen forces that attacked this fortress were repelled. My brothers and I followed the tenets of Saint Seiros by taking them in and-”</p><p>“The tenants of Saint Seiros are explicit about slavery,” the green-haired man snapped, holding one of the children by the wrist and showing his calloused, raw hand out for the Archbishop to see. “Regardless of our origins or our stations in life, we are all brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Goddess. No man is chattel to his brother, and none shall toil under the chains of bondage.”</p><p>“Lord Seteth!” Goneril quaked, his facade quickly crumbling away. “Please, my lord, you are mistaken! There are no chains! These children I treat as my own. They work to maintain the Locket, yes, but they do so of their own accord. I provide them with food, shelter, clothing, knowledge of the Goddess, and affection. The Almyrans would have had them die fighting us, but we would not turn our swords on children, heathen or otherwise! Believe me, my lord, I love each of them as if they were of my own flesh.”</p><p>
  <em> Ronald was disgusting. He mixed the truth up with his lies to make them go down better, and it looked like this Lord Seteth character was going to believe him. The boy, however, saw the biggest lie of them all: Ronald didn’t have any power in the Locket here and now. Khalil was the one with the power.  </em>
</p><p>Stepping out from behind the others, Khalil approached Lord Seteth and brushed back his hair to expose the ugly wound on his forehead. The man’s deep green eyes went wide with shock, and Khalil found himself shocked as well. </p><p>
  <em> What did this stranger see in a nobody like Khalil to draw such a look from him? He must have had children of his own, but what was Khalil to him? </em>
</p><p>From behind Lord Seteth’s shoulder, Khalil could see the Archbishop raise a hand before her soldiers detained Ronald and his brothers. Khalil, overwhelmed by emotion, was frozen in place as Lord Seteth left him to inspect each of the Goneril brothers. </p><p>“Your brothers are of your own flesh, yet none of them bare so wicked a wound as this child does,” the green-haired man said coldly. “Do not try to sell us on any more of your lies, Marquis, lest you further condemn yourself. This was done by your hand; these eyes of mine know the work of a blade when they see it.”</p><p>Ronald did not listen to Lord Seteth’s advice, continuing to plead his innocence while throwing the blame anywhere he thought it might stick. The westerners from the Church did not look convinced, and Khalil sank to his knees. The cobblestone beneath his legs was cold and hard. </p><p>
  <em> What had he done? Ronald was a cruel, stupid man, but Khalil knew what to expect from him. The Church people… what would they do to him and the others? Would they turn them loose back to Almyra? Khalil didn’t want to go back there; he wouldn’t fight for the people that abandoned him again. Would they send them off to one of the orphanages on the border? Khalil didn’t want to go there either; he didn’t want to belong to anyone anymore. He didn’t have a place anywhere in the world now… </em>
</p><p>As Seteth and the Church soldiers dealt with Ronald and his brothers, a soft hand cupped Khalil’s face and pulled him gently into a warm embrace. The boy looked up to see himself wrapped in the arms of the Archbishop. Her expression was gentle and understanding, and he did not peel himself away from her as he might have for anyone else. He did not know why she had this effect on him. </p><p>
  <em> No one had held him like this since his mother did.  </em>
</p><p>“Haletoon khoobe?” she asked, holding a hand over his forehead. A healing spell suddenly came forth from the tips of her slender fingers, and Khalil did not know how to respond. “Aziyatet namikonam.”</p><p>
  <em> Though her accent was a little funny, she was speaking Almyran to him… and politely! In Khalil’s experience, westerners never bothered learning Almyran, let alone talked to them as if they were anything less than devils. And she was healing him herself? Wasn’t that someone else’s job? Just who was she? </em>
</p><p>“I’m okay…” he said in the common tongue, “Thank you, um…”</p><p>“Rhea,” she replied warmly, smiling for the young boy in her arms. “And you?”</p><p>
  <em> What was a western boy’s name? And… why was that important? </em>
</p><p>“Cyril.”</p><p>The cobblestone beneath his legs was cold and hard, but the rest of him felt warm and soft. When he woke, he realised that he was not in Lady Rhea’s arms; he was in a dungeon cell in Fhirdiad. He had rolled off of his plush mattress in his sleep, and wound up half on the floor. </p><p>
  <em> A year at the Locket had made him hate waking up on a stone floor, but it beat sleeping out in the paddocks with Saam.  </em>
</p><p>As reality sunk back in, Cyril blinked himself fully into consciousness and noticed that Lysithea’s little card was still in his hand. He had fallen asleep while practicing the letters she had written out for him in the “guestroom” he was living in. Lord Rufus was not keen on having an Almyran stay in the royal palace, but made accommodations for him in a modified dungeon cell. The door and bars were removed, he was given a feather mattress and a work desk, some oil, some papers and a pen (which he had begun to use as scratch paper since he heard back from Lysithea), a basin of water to wash his face in, a clean enough chamber pot to use when it got too cold to use the latrines outside, a lantern, and even a stove to keep him warm down here. </p><p>
  <em> Dedue was the only person in the capital kind AND strong enough to bring the heavy iron stove down to the dungeons for Cyril. His lord was plenty strong too, but not nearly as kind. Cyril’s little stove might have been out of place here in the dungeons if Dimitri was in the business of taking prisoners… which he wasn’t. Cyril almost felt bad for the last Imperial spy they caught in Fhirdiad. Rufus handed him over to Dimitri… and Cyril remembered looking away while the Prince did the deed. Whoever Dimitri was pretending to be at the Officer’s Academy was long gone now. </em>
</p><p>“Ugh,” Cyril grumbled, feeling his stomach pang in hunger. “Gotta go up there, don’t I?”</p><p>Slipping Lysithea’s card into his tunic, Cyril put a pair of pants over his shorts, climbed into his boots, put a doublet over his body, a hooded cloak over his doublet, and a heavy fur over his cloak as he braced himself for the bitter cold above. Autumn had only just begun, but the Kingdom capital was already white with snow. After climbing the stairs to the top, Cyril pulled open the door and was blasted with an icy chill.</p><p>
  <em> This place made the Locket seem like a sauna. How did people live up here? </em>
</p><p>Cyril stepped out into the courtyard and walked towards the soldiers’ mess hall. He was used to the glares Fódlaners gave him, but there was no Lady Rhea to hide behind now and that simple fact emboldened them. Cyril barely minded them, though, and had gotten quite good at dodging snowballs and frozen cowpats. If he could make it to Shamir, Catherine, Alois, or any of the other Knights quickly enough, the harassment would end.</p><p>
  <em> There they were… but ugh, gross! </em>
</p><p>Catherine and Shamir were wrapped up in a fairly well-hidden alcove of the courtyard together, kissing each other deeply when Cyril happened upon them. Shamir, still draped in her partner’s arms, was the one to break the kiss when she heard her apprentice draw near, wiping the spit from her mouth with the back of her wrist when he came into sight. While Catherine was a blushing mess who could scarcely look Cyril in the eye, the boy judged from his mentor’s stone-faced expression that she was merely surprised that it had taken this long for someone to find them.</p><p>“Good morning, Cyril,” Shamir stated coolly, “You look ridiculous.”</p><p>“You too,” the boy replied, rolling his eyes. “I need to eat something. Can ya guys take a break from sucking face to come with me?”</p><p>“Y-Yeah,” Catherine obliged, letting go of Shamir and dusting herself off. “I could go for a bite.”</p><p>“Hm, a bite. Is that so? I’ll remember that the next time you call me aside like this,” Shamir joked, deadpan as ever. When Cyril took a look at Catherine to see how she responded, he saw that the ordinarily bronze skin of the Thunder Knight’s cheeks had turned a deep shade of reddish-brown. The archer walked past her apprentice and partner before turning slightly to beckon the pair of them over. “Come on, then. Let’s get going.”</p><p>As the three headed into the mess hall and picked up their trays, every eye inside turned towards them. If Catherine’s reputation as the famed Thunder Knight had not preceded her, the knight’s ferocity in the training ring made her no one in the capital chose to trifle with. Shamir, on the other hand, was Dagdan. As far as Dagdans were concerned, the people of Faerghus thought of them as heroes for their failed invasion on the Empire some years back. Under Catherine and Shamir’s watch, Cyril was practically untouchable.</p><p>“All right! Sautéed jerky and chickpeas!” Catherine exclaimed as she was given her morning rations from the soldier manning the counter. “And a flagon of ale to wash it down with? Mighty kind of you, friend!”</p><p>“Haha! Anything for the wielder of Thunderbrand!” the man laughed back. “And let’s not forget our goddess of the bow! Flagon of ale for you too!”</p><p>Though Cyril knew Shamir liked the food, he was unsure of how much she appreciated the compliment; her face scarcely moved when the soldier handed her the thick vessel of alcohol. As the two women moved forward in the queue, Cyril held out his tray and caught a dirty look from the previously jovial soldier before the man dropped a pair of jerky scraps onto his tray. It was scarcely enough for a dog.</p><p>
  <em> Fódlaners seemed to enjoy treating him like a dog. </em>
</p><p>“Apologies, little man,” the soldier grunted, clearing his throat. “Running a bit low at the moment, and I can’t give you any ale. Wouldn’t be responsible of me to be pouring alcohol for a child, now would it?”</p><p>
  <em> It was a warmer response than Cyril was expecting, but being served like this did make him miss old Cookie. This man was clearly just faking politeness to keep him out of trouble with Catherine and Shamir. Cyril was pretty good at telling when people hated him, and he knew how badly the man wanted to call him a ‘heathen’. At least the man had given him something edible. The sautéed jerky here was pretty good. </em>
</p><p>Cyril and the two women found a table and sat down, and Shamir wasted no time in shovelling half the contents of her tray onto Cyril’s. The boy looked up at her as if to protest, but the stern knight shook her head. Instead of talking back, Cyril merely nodded in appreciation and tucked in.</p><p>
  <em> Most of the higher up Knights of Seiros were nice enough to Cyril, but Shamir had been something else. She had brought him under her wing by helping him refine his bowmanship, teaching him to survive in the wild, and by encouraging him to use his natural talents for tracking and reconnaissance. She was also very protective of him, once going so far as to threaten the life of a Kingdom Army officer when the man drunkenly cornered Cyril and tried to beat him for being a ‘heathen-bon devil rider’. Though Shamir wasn’t quite old enough to be his mother, he figured she was as good as he might have ever had… except, of course, for Lady Rhea.  </em>
</p><p>“Cyril, you gotta try this,” Catherine said, holding out her flagon in the boy’s direction. “Nice and strong, but brewed with fruit to make it go down smooth. Best draught of ale I’ve had in a while! Take a sip; it’ll put some hair on your chest!”</p><p>“You have a hairy chest?” Cyril asked, raising a brow. “But you’re a woman.”</p><p>“Okay! No ale for you!” The knight immediately pulled back her flagon and squinted hard at the boy before taking a deep gulp.</p><p>“She doesn’t have a hairy chest,” Shamir said bluntly to her apprentice, “I’ve seen it plenty of times, and her breas-”</p><p>“Okay! Let’s move past my chest, yeah?” stammered Catherine, giving Shamir a hard glare before looking to the boy to change the subject. “What have you been up to, Cyril?”</p><p>The boy felt the card pressed against his chest, and wondered how much was safe for him to say to them. No one but Lysithea knew that he could not read, and he wanted to keep it that way. Regardless, he had to say something about the note she sent him earlier in the month.</p><p>“Calligraphy,” Cyril replied, reaching deep into the bundled layers of clothing he was wearing to fish out his card. “Lysithea sent me this card to help me practice. She was teaching me before everything kinda blew up last year.”</p><p>“Blew up? That’s an understatement,” the Thunder Knight groaned. “We’ll get ‘em back, though. Count on it!”</p><p>“Let’s see here,” the taciturn archer requested, holding out a gloved hand. When Cyril deposited Lysithea’s note into it, Shamir inspected it carefully before handing it back. “Your partner’s handwriting is flawless. I hope for your sake that your calligraphy is up to snuff when we meet up with her and the others later this month.”</p><p>
  <em> After seeing Shamir with Catherine the way he had earlier, the word ‘partner’ no longer sounded so professional. </em>
</p><p>“Can ya not call her that?” the boy asked, defensively snatching back his note. “We’re just friends.”</p><p>The two women looked at each other from the corners of their eyes, and Cyril knew that he was in trouble.</p><p>“Suuuure,” Catherine responded sarcastically. “So are Shamir and I. Partners and-”</p><p>“Bosom buddies,” Shamir calmly taunted, eliciting a slack-jawed stare from her partner. “Seriously, though: you don’t need to hide it from us. You couldn’t, really. Everyone saw how much time you spent together. You even went into her room.”</p><p>“That was to bring her food!” Cyril snapped. “Her head was hurting and Manuela needed a hand with taking care of her.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure you took care of her,” Catherine teased, giving the flustered boy a huge wink. “Shamir told me you were in there for an awful while.”</p><p>“We were talking! That was it!”</p><p>Cyril was beginning to get angry, and Shamir had taken note. It was evident that the teasing was getting out of hand. Elbowing Catherine hard in the arm, she let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose with her finger and thumb.</p><p>“All right, we believe you,” the archer said tersely. “It’s a shame, though; you two were a good match, status be damned.”</p><p>“Status be damned,” the swordswoman echoed bitterly, likely reflecting on her own struggles with nobility. “I was really rooting for you, kid. You know she really likes you, right? We talked a lot towards the end, and it doesn’t take a sharpshooter like Shamir to see that Lysithea gets this look in her eye when she talks about you.”</p><p>Shamir concurred with a nod, and Cyril suddenly felt an unfamiliar tingling in his core. </p><p>
  <em> Lysithea liked him? Why would she? Sure, they were friends, but he didn’t exactly have a lot to offer. Especially someone like her. He wasn’t tall or particularly handsome like Ferdinand or Sylvain, he thought the scar Ronald gave him made him look like a ruffian, and worst of all: his skin, hair, and eyes all gave away where he came from, which made most people who lived in Fódlan hate him. If all of that wasn’t enough, he also tended to snap when he got mad, didn’t have two copper coins to rub together, and was certain that his dedication to Lady Rhea got on his friend’s nerves from time to time. Heck, he was up here in the cold north instead of down south with her! He was just about the least appealing boy he could imagine. But… she did kiss him on the cheek… at least he thought so. Why was he so choked up about this? He didn’t like her back all this time, did he? Lady Rhea was the one who rescued him and gave him a place to belong… she was the one he chose! So… why did that sting so much? </em>
</p><p>“Ugh, I’m going to have to teach you how to kiss a woman someday, aren’t I?” Shamir groaned, immediately breaking Cyril out of his own thoughts. “If I left it to Alois or Seteth, there’s a good chance you’d bore your friend into the life of a nun.”</p><p>Before the boy could react, the castle bells began to toll. They were not the bells that tolled at the beginning of each hour nor were they the bells that signalled an attack; they were the bells that signalled the lords of the palace to come out at once. Someone was here with a message of great importance.</p><p>Cyril, Catherine, and Shamir quickly burst out of the mess hall and into the throngs of soldiers that crowded the courtyard. Alois and the rest of the Knights of Seiros quickly joined up with them, followed swiftly by Seteth and Flayn. When the main gates to the castle opened, Gilbert rode in on a tall, brown destrier. He was breathing heavy and his eyes were wide. Bugles then sounded out, and Cyril looked back to see the crowds behind him parting as Duke Rufus, Prince Dimitri, Dedue, and the rest of the royal guard made their way towards the ginger knight on his horse.</p><p>“My Prince! My Lord Regent!” Gilbert gasped, climbing down from his saddle and kneeling before the royal family. “Grievous news!”</p><p>“Stand, Gustave,” Rufus commanded genially, reminding Cyril that he was not the only person in Fhirdiad who lived with a fake name. “Take a moment to catch your breath.”</p><p>“No,” said Dimitri in an icy tone. “Speak.”</p><p>“It’s… It’s Duke Oswald of the Alliance, my lords,” answered the tired knight. “Duke Oswald is dead and the Alliance is in a state of disarray! The Great Bridge of Myrddin has fallen, and Count Gloucester has rallied his forces in open defiance of Derdriu. He claims that House Reigan is now extinct, seeking now to wrest control of Leicester from the Alliance’s capital.”</p><p>A wave of gasps echoed through the crowd before Dimitri silenced them all by slamming the shaft of his frightening lance, Areadbhar, onto the ground.</p><p>
  <em> In Dimitri’s hand, the Hero’s Relic hardly looked so heroic. </em>
</p><p>“What of Claude?” the Prince asked. “Is he dead or is Gloucester merely disputing his legitimacy?”</p><p>“Claude… Duke Claude is alive. He has sued the Empire for neutrality while he deals with the rebels within his borders,” Gilbert replied, “and they seem to have agreed with his terms for the time being. My lords… they are coming for us and we are alone. Imperial forces were spotted in Rowe territory just this morning!”</p><p>“How many?” Dimitri asked coldly. </p><p>“I cannot say for certain, sire,” gulped the knight, “but reports indicate that the Empire has prepared a full invasionary force. It is likely they intend to blitz the Kingdom and besiege every major city on the road to Fhirdiad.”</p><p>While everyone in the crowd - including Dedue and Rufus - froze in terrified silence, Cyril saw a frightful smile work its way across Dimitri’s face. Before long, he was laughing like a man possessed. Perplexed onlookers dared not make a sound for fear of reprisal from the Prince, but then he said something truly worrisome.</p><p>“This is a gift!” Dimitri roared between bursts of maniacal laughter. “Our chance to finally silence the cries of the tormented dead!”</p><p>“Peace, nephew,” Rufus commanded, the concern evident in the regent’s eyes. “You mustn’t go on like this in front of the people. How in the Goddess’s name is this a gift?”</p><p>“Don’t you see it, Uncle?” the Prince asked, his chilling smile unperturbed. “We have a dagger up our sleeves, and you yourself armed us! Not a month ago, you sent Cornelia south to collect the soldiers House Rowe amassed during these long months of waiting, didn’t you?”</p><p>The regent nodded hesitantly, and Dimitri embraced him awkwardly before turning back to the crowd. </p><p>“My Uncle has all but assured our victory!” he shouted to the people gathered around him. “If we send the word, Cornelia will draw the Empire away from Arianrhod by dangling the chance to strike at all of those poor, retreating troops instead of foolishly laying siege to one of Fódlan’s greatest fortresses. Hundreds of our countrymen will doubtless be picked off along the way, but we’ll pay blood for blood! Once Cornelia and the Rowes reach the Tailtean Plains, we will attack from all sides and fertilise the fields with the broken bodies of those Imperial swine!”</p><p>The tall, blond prince walked past Gilbert and held out his arms for his people. He was grinning so widely now that Cyril thought his face might tear. </p><p>“When the enemy’s numbers are spent, they won’t be able to resist us! We’ll ride south and ransack the Empire in retribution. We’ll burn Enbarr to the ground and put Edelgard’s head on a pike!” the Prince exclaimed. “It’s all so close now… At long last, it’s all coming together! You can see it, can’t you?! My friends! My countrymen! Can you not see it? We’ll finally avenge our King, our Queen, and all of our friends who perished in Duscur tenfold… no, a hundredfold! You see it now, friends?! The dead will finally have their due!”</p><p>At first, Cyril heard a few nervous chuckles break the silence. Then he heard a man he could not see, laughing in tune with the Prince. Then another… and another. Before long, many in the crowd were either laughing or cheering along with Dimitri, and Cyril felt a sense of dread he had never experienced in his life before.</p><p>
  <em> Why was he so afraid now? Cyril had never been particularly afraid of dying in the past, and he had seen his fair share of death too… but never on the level Dimitri was suggesting. He was going to try to turn the whole Empire into a country of ash and bone, and he didn’t care how many of his own people died to make it happen. He didn’t even mention Lady Rhea. She was just as expendable to Dimitri as the rest of his people were, but he was also the only way back to her now for Cyril and the Knights of Seiros… It was cold here in Faerghus, these people were completely insane, and Cyril figured that he was probably going to die… Dying in the cold beside all of these crazy people wasn’t what he wanted. When he really thought about it, Cyril started to realise that he didn’t want to die at all... </em>
</p><p>Cyril looked at Shamir and then at Catherine to see that they were similarly concerned. He saw Flayn holding onto Seteth for protection, who himself was forcing a smile to try to blend into the crowd. Perhaps smiles were their best defense for now. Cyril forced himself to smile and Catherine followed suit as the laughter erupted into a roar of jubilant shouts. Shamir could only manage a straight face, which would likely have been good enough for anyone who had talked to her. At the Prince’s feet, Cyril saw poor Gilbert whose stunned silence and shocked expression at the sight unfolding around him was likely to get him into trouble.</p><p>
  <em> Shamir was right; he would regret not going with Lysithea. When Cyril thought back on his dream and the day he first met Lady Rhea, he never imagined that this was where finding a place in the world would take him. He could deal with the jeers and the petty harassment of others, the hardships of battle, and even being apart from Lady Rhea and Lysithea, but this was a side of people he had never seen before. Not at the Locket, not in Almyra, and not at Garreg Mach. This was pure hatred, and it chilled him to the bone worse than the icy winds and snow ever could. Cyril hated the Empire for taking Lady Rhea away from him, but he didn’t want to hate like Dimitri hated. Living a life like that was worse than death… and it was all so close now. Somehow, Cyril had gone full-circle… He was nominally free, but bound to inescapable circumstances and completely surrounded by people who hated him. This wasn’t what Lady Rhea promised him at all… She wasn’t even with him anymore; she hadn’t been in a long time. Somehow, he had left the Locket and wound up here... </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here it is, folks: my favourite chapter in the fic so far.</p><p>Complimenting Chapter 11 where we get a brief glimpse into Lysithea's unfortunate past, Chapter 12 is where we get a good, long look at the ugliness of Cyril's past (AND WE ALSO GET TO KNOW HIS BIRTH NAME). I took a lot of inspiration for the first half of this chapter from the game, specifically Cyril's supports with Hilda, Claude, and Ignatz. Hilda and Cyril's supports point to a very unhealthy relationship between the Gonerils and the Almyrans, which unfortunately comes out in the way Hilda speaks to Cyril about Almyrans. While I don't think Hilda is nearly as prejudiced as the rest of her family is (I get the vibe that she is so lazy that she takes everything they say about their enemies at face value instead of putting in the effort to form her own opinions) and I certainly don't think she's an irredeemable person, her behaviour in these supports basically helped inform me how the rest of the Gonerils treat Almyrans. On the other side of things, Cyril does not paint a good picture of Almyra in his supports with Claude and Ignatz; he was orphaned at five and forced to participate in raids on the goddamn border until he was taken in as a servant. This is where things got a little tricky for me. I see so many other very talented artists, writers, and content creators glorifying Almyra (and even orientalising it, which personally grosses me out), but I think Three Houses put these supports in there to show that no side of any conflict is clean. While Fódlan has its very evident problems with racism and zealotry, Almyra's warrior culture leaves a lot of kids like Cyril in horrible living circumstances. Going a little further into the chapter, I wanted to explore Cyril's dynamic with Shamir and Catherine a bit more. Catherine/Shamir is the only other confirmed pairing I intend to reference in this fic (because I want to leave the rest of the pairings up to YOUR preferences), but I really liked the idea of Cyril's ever-growing collection of mother figures and wanted to have them share a moment of levity with him through the absolutely dismal situation he finds himself in. Finally, we come to Dimitri, who is an absolute joy to write for. While Chapter 11 ended with the stakes getting raised on the Alliance side of things, Dimitri's erratic behaviour lends itself well to making the situation in the Kingdom seem completely screwed. While most of you here will know how Dimitri's reliance on Cornelia and House Rowe will pan out for him down the road, I also wanted to highlight how he manages to weaponise Faerghus's frankly terrifying culture of nationalism for the sake of revenge at all costs. Though Dimitri is clearly not mentally well, his speech towards the end of the chapter shows that he's still a very competent military strategist and orator. While this does wonders for whipping the Kingdom into a frenzy to take on the Empire, outsiders like Cyril, the Knights of Seiros, and maybe even you - as the readers - will see this for the horror show it is.</p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it, and maybe consider sharing it around if you feel like someone you know might enjoy it! Chapter 13 is going to be much more emotionally satisfying than these last two chapters, so I hope you're excited! Thanks for your readership!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Lysithea: Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1182</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Reunions at the Alliance capital of Derdriu afford Lysithea a more active role in shaping her future.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sounds of swirling and sloshing filled the crisp morning air with the gentle melody of the sea. Derdriu was unlike any city in Fódlan during times of peace. Its bustling ports brought goods and wares in from distant lands, while travellers from around the world came to see the stunning city’s fusion of classical and modern architecture, lose themselves in its many street festivals, experience Fódlan art and culture displayed in the famed Leicester Museum, and peruse the sprawling Crescent Bow Market for imports from across the globe. Built during the ancient era of King Loog, splendid Derdriu, the Aquatic Capital, was the mercantile center of the known world and one of the continent’s great wonders. </p><p>
  <em> At least… that was how people saw it during times of peace. Save for the sea, it was just like any other Alliance city in the midst of this miserable war. The streets were blockaded with barricades of piled sandbags, its beautiful buildings had been boarded up and shuttered, and even the Crescent Bow Market doubled as a military checkpoint.  </em>
</p><p>Lysithea and Oleander rode into the city early that morning, having left Dahlia to manage Ordelia Territory on her own some days ago. Lysithea’s mother remarked at how beautiful she was becoming shortly before she left, and the girl - now a young woman of seventeen - recalled groaning that she had scarcely gotten much taller at all since the onset of the war. Now staring out of the carriage window, Lysithea thought back on the times she would come here with her parents when she was a child. </p><p>
  <em> The Harpstring Moon was supposed to be a time for music and merrymaking, and Derdriu was the liveliest place in the Alliance for it before the war. These streets used to be flooded with people around this time of year, and the sweets the food stall merchants sold were to die for… Now, it was just another month in a nation at war… with itself no less. That seemed to be the current trend among nations that dared to defy the Empire... </em>
</p><p>Lysithea huffed as she sat back in her seat and looked at her father slumped in a heap across from her. Oleander always looked a little sad when he was awake, but he looked positively tragic when he slept. His head was leaned up against the left side of the carriage, his hair was a mess, his blanket had slipped most of the way onto the floor, and his closed eyes and wide-mouthed breathing made him appear as if he was lamenting something. The truth was that Lysithea’s father had merely dozed off on the ride over, and this was the way he always looked when he was fast asleep. The young woman smiled at him before picking his blanket off of the ground and properly covering him with it. </p><p>
  <em> At least one of them got some rest during their journey to Derdriu. Lysithea’s head was too full of worries to allow her to even nod off for a minute or two. News had broke earlier in the month that the Imperial siege on Fhirdiad had ended in tragedy. Duke Rufus had been murdered, Prince Dimitri had been blamed for his uncle's death and sentenced to a swift execution, and House Rowe - who betrayed the royal family and besieged the Kingdom capital - had assumed control over the eastern half of Faerghus under the leadership of Dutchess Cornelia. And the Knights of Seiros? The only news Lysithea had heard of them was that they were fugitives in the newly minted ‘Dukedom of Faerghus’, with many in their number dead or imprisoned after the fall of Fhirdiad. She had not heard anything back from Catherine, and Cyril hadn’t sent her anything since last year… </em>
</p><p>The young woman brought the little tin container in her hands up to her face and opened the lid to take a peek at its contents in the light. The potpourri Cyril had sent her last year had lost its aroma months ago, but she kept the scent alive in her memories. Like scents, however, memories were also prone to fading, especially under conditions of great stress.</p><p>
  <em> As much as Lysithea hoped he hadn’t forgotten her, she’d have much preferred that to the alternative… The best she could hope for him now was that he was with the remaining Knights of Seiros. Cyril didn’t deserve to live the life of a fugitive, but Lysithea knew her friend was more than capable of surviving out there.  </em>
</p><p>“My lord, my lady,” the coachman outside called as the wheels of the carriage grinded to a halt. “Cornwall Keep, seat of House Reigan. We’ve arrived, my lieges!”</p><p>Situated at the heart of the city, Cornwall Keep was less of a palace than it was a large, gorgeous estate. The main residence was a manor unlike any other in Fódlan. An ancient building that predated the Leicester Alliance and even the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, it was built high into the air on stilted arches of bleached white stone. It had spires and balconies that were all connected by narrow catwalks, each one protected by weatherworn battlements. Lysithea imagined that in the past before the lords of old erected the sea walls that allowed them to claim much of the city's land from the reach of the sea, this estate seemingly floated on the water like an island fortress. In the present, however, fountains, hedges, and statues of Leicester lords past lined the road leading to the main estate, and the property was wooded with lush trees. The Ordelia entourage stopped just shy of the stairwell leading up to the keep’s main entrance, and Lysithea was a bit sad to see how even the once-bountiful gardens here had been converted for military use.</p><p>
  <em> Claude was taking something seriously for once. It looked like this war seeped into every aspect of her former classmate’s life since old Oswald passed away, with even his personal residence serving as a base of operations for the Alliance military. Claude was always shrewd and cunning at the Academy, but he tended to rely on cheap tricks to pull narrow victories. Lysithea was almost proud of him for rising to meet his potential in the midst of the current crises… though she wasn’t quite sure how the badly outnumbered Alliance forces would be able to handle both the Gloucesters and the Empire. </em>
</p><p>“Nngh… two more minutes,” Oleander grumbled lazily. “Two more minutes to rest my eyes...”</p><p>“Father, we have a Roundtable meeting to get to,” Lysithea said with a sigh, giving the man a gentle nudge. “In case you haven’t forgotten, you <em> are </em>the current Count Ordelia.”</p><p>The Count opened his eyes and winced at the sunlight at his daughter’s back before offering her a tired smile. “You had me fooled. By the way you and your mother talk to me, I might mistake myself as your attendant when I get old and senile.”</p><p>
  <em> As if she’d live that long. </em>
</p><p>“Ugh, sorry, dear,” Oleander groaned, realising his mistake as he stretched himself out with a yawn. “Bad joke.”</p><p>The young woman smiled at her father before taking his blanket from him and putting it aside. “Yes, it was, but I did like the sound of it. It would be nice to see you and Mother with hair as white as mine someday; we would all match!”</p><p>“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” the Count asked merrily, stepping out of the carriage. As Lysithea moved to follow him, she noticed he had stopped dead in his tracks and was looking up to the top of the stairwell leading into the estate.</p><p>“And speaking of sights,” he said, clearing his throat, “here is a sight for sore eyes. Countess Daphnel! How are you, my good lady?”</p><p>“Significantly more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than you are, Count Ordelia,” Judith teased. “And Lysithea? My, you’ve grown quite a bit since the Battle of Garreg Mach!”</p><p>When Lysithea made it out of the carriage, her eyes went wide with excitement. Descending the stairs towards her and her father was Judith von Daphnel, the very same woman who rescued her and her Alliance-born classmates some years earlier. The swarthy, beautiful noblewoman carried herself just as gracefully here in the relatively peaceful capital as she had during the crisis at Garreg Mach, and Lysithea had come to look up to her since then. She was everything Lysithea imagined a noblewoman should be, and she thought it was a terrible shame that House Daphnel had lost its seat at the Roundtable.</p><p>“Lady Judith!” Lysithea nearly yelped, curtsying politely for the Countess. “Oh, yes! I’m glad you noticed and even happier still to see that you are well. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person again to thank you for seeing me back to my parents.”</p><p>“Think nothing of it, young lady,” the famed Hero of Daphnel replied, curtsying in kind. “Oleander, you’ve raised a fine young lady here. You should be very proud.”</p><p>“Immensely,” the Count replied with a modest smile. “Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, may I ask why you’re here? House Daphnel hasn’t sat on the Roundtable since-”</p><p>“I’m well aware of my family’s recent history,” the noblewoman interrupted. “Though I’ll have you know that the boy has tasked me with leading the Roundtable and managing the Alliance in his stead.”</p><p>“In his stead?!” Lysithea choked. “You’re saying Claude isn’t here right now?”</p><p>
  <em> That explained why Cornwall Keep was so well-organised and heavily fortified. </em>
</p><p>“That’s right,” Judith replied simply. “Though I understand he’s securing a crucial alliance at Fódlan’s Locket right now with Lord Holst, who also won’t be joining us today. I’m afraid the Roundtable is full of substitutes this morning.”</p><p>“Lovely,” Oleander sighed. “Who else is here?”</p><p>“Aside from you, Count, Margrave Edmund is the only regular Roundtable delegate here today,” answered the noblewoman. “Holst’s father, the former Duke Goneril, is also here.” She paused to heave a heavy sigh. “And House Gloucester has a representative for the first time in about a year. The Gloucester boy, to be precise. His father likely - and correctly - thinks that I’d have his head if he dared to poke it into the capital again.”</p><p>“Lorenz?” Lysithea asked incredulously. “This should be interesting. I still have Thyrsus, you know.”</p><p>“Do you now?” Judith replied with a wicked smile. “Count Gloucester was beside himself when his boy returned home without the family’s Hero’s Relic. My spies have reported that House Gloucester has spent a small fortune since then on trying to excavate it from the ruins of Garreg Mach. If you have it on you now, it’s likely that the Gloucester boy will beg to get it back.”</p><p>“That’s what I’m counting on,” declared the young woman, steeling herself for the confrontation ahead. </p><p>“And here I was thinking today would just be another war council,” Oleander chuckled with a shrug of his shoulders. “Ah well, so much for a day’s peace. Lady Judith, Lysithea? Shall we get to it, then?”</p><p>The Hero of Daphnel hummed in agreement and escorted the Ordelias into the Reigan estate. Inside, Lysithea was relieved to see the foyer bustling with Daphnel troops. Judith entertained the young woman and her father with tales of her exploits from the western territories of Leicester since the onset of the fighting, explaining how she and her soldiers had made themselves priority targets of the Empire by disrupting trading caravans coming in and out of Gloucester Territory. After ascending the stairs into the estate’s largest spire, the three nobles finally arrived at the top floor where the other Alliance lords were awaiting them. Almost immediately upon their arrival, the other nobles stood up from the eponymous Round Table of Leicester to greet the arrival of Judith and the Ordelias. </p><p>“Oleander! By the Goddess, where have you been hiding all these years?!” boomed a tall, broad man with a mane of pink hair. “It’s been too long! Good to see you, man!”</p><p>“You needn’t pretend to have missed me, Horatio,” Oleander replied with an exasperated smirk. “I’ve been right here at the Table since you retired.”</p><p>“And this must be the wunderkind,” came a much shorter man with a face too small for his round, rosy cheeks. “My daughter, Marianne, has told me all about the fearsome genius responsible for laying the frightful Death Knight low time and time again. So good to meet you, child.”</p><p>
  <em> Wunderkind… Lysithea hated that word. Whenever she heard it, it felt as if whoever was saying it was trying to praise her intellect and dismiss her as a child in the same breath.  </em>
</p><p>“The pleasure is mine, Margrave Edmund,” Lysithea responded with a far less cordial curtsy than the one she had offered Judith earlier. </p><p>“Please: Caius is fine,” the margrave replied, waving off the formalities with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. “And doubtless, I’m sure you’re pleased to see Lorenz here. Your former classmate was regaling Horatio and me with the story of the Golden Deer’s hand in suppressing the Lonato Rebellion. A riveting tale, that!”</p><p>
  <em> One told at poor Ashe’s expense.  </em>
</p><p>For his part, Lorenz had remained silent since Judith and the Ordelias arrived at the meeting hall. Lysithea had chosen to ignore him until she met with the other two lords in the room, but she could feel the young nobleman’s steely stare piercing her from across the room. When she finally turned to acknowledge him, her frank expression of aloof disinterest caused him to visibly quake. </p><p>“Pleased is a strong word, Caius,” the young lady replied coolly. “Though I am glad that someone from House Gloucester chose to represent the only family in open rebellion of the Alliance.”</p><p>Lorenz snorted contemptuously. “I’ll have you know that House Acheron is-“</p><p>“Look at how far you’ve fallen, Lorenz,” Lysithea huffed. “If Acheron is the only person you can call a friend now, then it’s clear that we all misjudged you at the Academy.”</p><p>Lorenz had no response but to sit back down, and the young noblewoman narrowed her eyes at him. For as badly as she wished to draw Thyrsus from her satchel and lord it over him, she recognised that now was not a good time for that just yet. </p><p>“Well, I’m glad the young lady of Ordelia and I are on the same page,” Judith hummed, moving to take her seat at the head of the Roundtable. “Why don’t we get this going, then, so we can air our grievances officially?”</p><p>As the other nobles sat down, Oleander found a thin, wooden chair for Lysithea and placed it beside his at the Table. Save for the stools meant for guards or attendants present in the room, it was likely the best her father could arrange for her. Lysithea noticed that the five chairs meant for the five great lords of Leicester seemed more like thrones than anything else, and that her presence here was completely at the others’ discretion. Even Lorenz, whose family were essentially traitors to the nation, occupied a far more dignified seat at the Roundtable than Lysithea did. Her former classmate evidently did not want her to forget that fact by the way he was sitting. </p><p>“May this nation without kings, emperors, nor monarchs remain sovereign and stable as we initiate this meeting of the Roundtable,” the Lady Daphnel recited. “Long may Leicester stand.”</p><p>“Long may Leicester stand,” Lysithea and the others echoed. </p><p>“Right then, onto business,” Judith continued. “Let’s tackle the elephant in the room, shall we?”</p><p>“What the hell is an elephant?” grumbled Horatio. </p><p>“A large animal from the east,” sighed Caius. “Lady Judith is referring to the most obvious matter at hand.”</p><p>“Or rather, the most obvious matter <em> not </em>at hand,” Lorenz added in. “Where is Claude? Why, with all due respect, is Lady Daphnel sitting in his place?”</p><p>“Lady Judith hasn’t told you?” Lysithea asked, satisfied with the early leverage Judith had given her. “I suppose that sort of information is reserved for actual allies of Leicester.”</p><p>“Hmph, and speaking privileges are reserved for actual leaders of the Alliance,” the young Gloucester retorted. </p><p>Before Lysithea could snap back at him, Judith cleared her throat loudly to interrupt. </p><p>“You are not a sitting leader of Leicester, Gloucester boy,” the noblewoman corrected. “Nor is your County a member of the Alliance any longer. That I allow you to represent Gloucester on your father’s behalf is a privilege I extend to Lysithea as well. Treat her as an equal member of this Roundtable or leave. You have that choice.”</p><p>Lysithea saw Lorenz grit his teeth before looking to her and offering a half-hearted nod in apology. </p><p>
  <em> The Hero of Daphnel indeed! </em>
</p><p>“Claude left Derdriu a month ago, after the last Roundtable meeting,” Judith continued. “He wrote to me well in advance to let me know the full details of the scheme he was preparing, and I agreed to helm the Alliance in his absence. Judging by his most recent correspondence, he should be back within the week.”</p><p>“The full details?” Horatio wondered aloud. “My son told me only that Claude needed him specifically at the Locket for an important meeting. What are the full details?”</p><p>“Classified for the moment,” the Hero of Daphnel responded. “Suffice to say: our leader secured vital troops necessary to see both Fódlan’s Locket and the border to Almyra safe from Almyran aggression for the duration of the war.”</p><p>“How ever did he manage that?” Caius asked. </p><p>“Oh, I’ll take a stab at this!” the old Goneril lord roared merrily. “The mountain clans of Kupala! My girl, Hilda, told me all about how she and Claude reconnected with that Albrecht lad. Balthus, his name was! Yes, I remember Balthus well! Big fellow and strong! He and Holst were an item before the lad had to go on the lam. If Claude met up with Balthus, then I’d wager our boy leader offered to pay off Balthus’s debts and reunite him with my son in exchange for the cooperation of his kin in Kupala. Those mountain folk are elusive, but by the Goddess can they fight!”</p><p>“Oh yes, I know the lad as well,” Oleander chimed in. “My wife and I gave him sanctuary back when Ordelia territory was under Imperial occupation after the Hrym Rebellion. I was relieved to hear that he was alive and well from Lysithea when she was still at the Officer’s Academy.”</p><p>
  <em> Something didn’t seem wholly right with Horatio’s theory, but Lysithea couldn’t quite place it. Balthus was loud and obnoxious, but extremely grateful to those who lent him a hand. Perhaps Claude did enlist his help in securing the Almyran border after all… </em>
</p><p>“More to the point, a secure border means Goneril troops for the war effort!” Horatio roared with a mighty laugh. “Your father’s days are numbered, little Gloucester!”</p><p>“Now hold a moment!” Lorenz protested. “No one here doubts the strength of Goneril’s troops nor Lord Holst’s dedication to protecting Fódlan, but we have the Empire at our backs. If the tensions in Leicester break out into violence, then my father need only reach out to the Emperor herself for aid. Countless lives will be lost in the fighting, and none of you will be in any position to defend yourselves when the Empire finishes their business in the Kingdom and turns their full attention to you. When such a time comes, House Gloucester will remember the needless blood you shed in the name of resisting the inevitable.”</p><p>“Is that a threat, Gloucester boy?” Judith growled. “I could give your father something to remember right here and now if you’d care to test me.”</p><p>Lysithea was far worse at dulling her anger than Judith was. At Lorenz’s mention of the Kingdom, she drew Thyrsus from her satchel and clutched it hard in her hand beneath the great Round Table. </p><p>“I’d rather it not come to that,” Lorenz responded calmly. “You all know as well as I do that the Alliance isn’t long for this world. With Prince Dimitri dead and House Blaiddyd now extinct, it will only be a matter of time before Houses Frauldarius, Gautier, and Charon fall under Dukedom control. When, not if, that happens, the Empire will come for you. Would you not rather be allied with them when that happens? If you won’t consider yourselves or your families, think of your people. Why would any of you subject them to that?”</p><p>
  <em> That was it!  </em>
</p><p>“Why would you?!” Lysithea snapped, brandishing a now-ignited Thyrsus. “Because of you and your awful father, our friends in the Kingdom are either dead or being hunted down like animals! Because of what your father did, Dimitri, his whole family, and Dedue are dead, and…”</p><p>A tense silence filled the room as Lysithea clenched her teeth hard and gulped. She could see the shock and fear in Lorenz’s eyes, but was unsatisfied by either. Turning her former classmate into a charred skeleton was not going to undo the damage his father had caused, nor would it reunite her with her missing friend. </p><p>
  <em> Making him beg for it back was pointless too… He was right after all. Even with the Gonerils full strength at their disposal, the Alliance could only hope to put up a brave last stand before the Empire won out. This war was over before it ever began... </em>
</p><p>“Here!” the young woman spat, tossing Thyrsus on the table in front of Lorenz. “Take it. I want nothing to do with you or your family anymore…”</p><p>“Th-Thyrsus?” Lorenz gulped, still noticeably shaken as he delicately inspected the relic wand. “Lysithea, this could have changed everything. My father would have-”</p><p>“No,” Lysithea said with a sigh. “Nothing would have changed. The only hope we had to stop the Empire was Claude’s united front. That hope died when the members of this Table chose to ignore my father about Acheron.”</p><p>All eyes turned to Oleander who shrugged in defeat. “Alas, I did not make my case against the Weathervane strongly enough, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“I’m sure we all have a great many things we regret,” Caius offered, “but we must look to the present. Lady Judith, though House Edmund would like to offer its backing to House Reigan, I fear that we can only promise our territory’s neutrality in the conflict to come, effective immediately.”</p><p>“What?!” Horatio demanded. “No, I’ll not hear anymore of this! Judith, on behalf of my son, Duke Holst Vigilus Goneril, I pledge my house’s full support behind you and the Reigan boy! To the death, if need be!”</p><p>Lysithea saw Judith furrow her brow as she looked to Oleander, and followed suit to see the conflicted look on her father’s face. It was evident now that the reality of their struggle against the Empire had settled in with him long ago, and now he had to make a decision about the fate of their household. Siding with Claude meant the best they could hope for was a heroic end, while joining the Empire presented the very real possibility that House Ordelia would be under the influence of those wicked mages again. When he looked at her, Lysithea could see that her father was awaiting her call.</p><p>
  <em> There was only one real option here: she would have to pressure her parents out of politics sooner than she might have liked to, take control of House Ordelia, and side with Claude… That way, she could die knowing they wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. She would not side with the monsters who had stolen her life and her siblings away from her, and she wasn’t prepared for her parents to die alongside her. </em>
</p><p>As Lysithea drew in a breath to speak, a sudden thump broke the silence. Something large had landed on the roof of the spire and was scratching its way to the edge where the eastern balcony lay. Everyone in the meeting room looked at each other in puzzled bewilderment as the sound of scratching stopped. A brief silence then followed before someone descended from the roof onto the balcony.</p><p>
  <em> If ever there was a time for a dramatic entrance, now was the worst. </em>
</p><p>“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Claude said spryly, as he tried to open the door into the meeting room. “Hey, um… would someone mind letting me into my own home?”</p><p>
  <em> …It seemed like Claude was still an insufferable man-child.</em>
</p><p>Heaving a very audible groan, Judith got up from her seat and walked to the eastern balcony to let Claude in. When he offered her a contrite smile to thank her, the Hero of Daphnel held the door shut until he apologised properly before allowing him to enter. When the Leader of the Alliance finally managed to get in, Lysithea noticed a strange bow case slung over his back before hearing a sudden clattering of roof tiles. She and the other nobles looked out behind Claude to see a large, white wyvern fly off in the distance, and Lorenz was the first to voice his bewilderment.</p><p>“Claude, what in the Goddess’s name was that?!” the Gloucester demanded. “Why are you here now and where in the world did you get that… that thing?!”</p><p>“Oh, Nima?” Claude asked with a cool smile. “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”</p><p>“Hah! Nima, huh?” Horatio guffawed. “A real beaut indeed! A gift from the mountain folk of Kupala, right?”</p><p>“Hm… that’s right,” the Alliance Leader responded with a raised brow. “Very astute observation. Did you come to that yourself?”</p><p>“That’s right,” the big lord replied, wrapping his head with his knuckle. “That’s the old Goneril wit at work!”</p><p>“More importantly,” Lysithea interrupted, squinting hard at the former house leader. “What have you grown on your face? You look completely ridiculous.”</p><p>Claude pawed the thin, fluffy moustache growing on his upper lip and grimaced. “Lysithea, I’m hurt. I thought it made me look rather dashing.”</p><p>“It makes you look like you have a pair of caterpillars crawling across your face,” the young woman said bluntly, prompting a laugh from her father, Horatio, and Judith. “And that beard isn’t much better.”</p><p>“Ugh, fine, I’ll shave it after the meeting,” the Alliance Leader conceded, “but the beard stays.”</p><p>“If we’re done discussing Claude’s unfortunate facial hair, I believe we have more pressing matters to continue on with,” Lorenz said with a groan. “Most importantly of all: your lineage, Claude. My father has made no secret of his lack of confidence in you, and has even gone so far as to call you a pretender. You may bear the Crest of Reigan, Claude, but how are we to know you are Duke Oswald’s true and rightful heir?”</p><p>The young Reigan lord’s smile disappeared as he acknowledged his counterpart from Gloucester. The two had never been on especially good terms at the Academy, and Lysithea had heard some of the shocking things Lorenz had said about their class leader, both behind his back and to his face.</p><p>“Would you like me to tell you or would you prefer a demonstration?” Claude asked, staring the young man from Gloucester dead in the eye. “You do know what I’ve brought with me, don’t you?”</p><p>“A foreign beast and that sad tuft of peach fuzz?” Lorenz quipped defiantly. “No? Enlighten me, then.”</p><p>“Gladly.”</p><p>Claude quickly abandoned his serious air as a sly smile worked its way across his face and he nodded to oblige his former classmate. Tossing the bow case over his shoulder and into his arms, Claude undid the leather strings keeping the case together and withdrew a very unusual weapon.</p><p>“Hm... Failnaught. I see what you meant by a demonstration,” Lorenz sighed at the sight. “You are the second person to threaten me with a Hero’s Relic today.”</p><p>Noticing Thyrsus lying on the Round Table, Claude grinned at Lysithea and chuckled.</p><p>“Why, Lorenz, I would never!” the Alliance Leader responded, pretending to sound offended. “You’ve said some very hurtful things to me in the past, but I’m scarcely the type to answer little things like gossip with violence.”</p><p>“And treason?” Horatio asked, making his way over to stand at his overlord’s side. “How would you answer that?”</p><p>“Lorenz is not responsible for his father’s actions,” Claude replied. “Nor is his father responsible for Acheron’s. For all of his follies, I loved my grandfather, but his fear of sewing division has caused us quite a few problems in the present.”</p><p>“What?!” Lysithea and Lorenz gasped in tandem.</p><p>
  <em> It felt disgusting to see eye-to-eye with that purple chamberpot. </em>
</p><p>“You heard me,” the lord of House Reigan responded. “Lorenz’s father was put in an impossible situation, and I don’t blame him for acting as he did. With or without his cooperation, Acheron was going to let the Empire in. By siding with the Empire and inciting this internal power struggle, Lorenz, your father has very kindly bought us some time.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?” Gloucester asked, clearly flabbergasted. “My father did nothing of the sort! He chose to side with the Empire to spare our people from a bloodbath.”</p><p>“I know,” Claude replied. “Which is why I need you all to trust me.”</p><p>Another terse silence befell the nobles of the Roundtable as they looked around at each other. Eventually, Judith was the first to place a hand on Claude’s shoulder. Lysithea did not wait long to follow suit, and her father was not far behind her. Lord Horatio broke the silence entirely with a chuckle as he patted Claude so hard on the back that he nearly fell forward, and Lord Edmund meekly made his way over to stand by his overlord’s side.</p><p>
  <em> Were it not for Marianne’s sake, Lysithea wouldn’t have had any patience for her friend’s adoptive father. The man was clearly letting his ambition guide his actions, but at least he was at their side… </em>
</p><p>“Fine,” Lorenz said sharply, his arms folded across his chest. “You seem to be the only one here who appreciates my family’s position. I’ll hear what you have to say, and keep to myself if I don’t agree.”</p><p>“That’s all I ask,” Claude replied with a nod. “In three years, I’ve arranged to have enough reinforcements arrive to turn the tide of things on the Empire and hold our territories indefinitely. I need three years from you all to keep the Empire as far away from our affairs as possible.”</p><p>“Reinforcements?” the young man from Gloucester asked. “Where did you come upon so many of them? Kupala is a village in the mountains, and the clans that dwell there are hardly so many that we could keep the Imperial Army away indefinitely.”</p><p>“Mercenaries!” Horatio guessed loudly. “Or maybe the freedom fighters in Brigid and Dagda? They’ve reason as any to resist the Empire!”</p><p>“Hm, perhaps all of the above,” Caius muttered. “Or perhaps Lord Claude has managed to secure safe passage to the Alliance for the Knights of Seiros?”</p><p>“I can’t fully trust you all with that information just yet, but I will say that you two are on the right track,” Claude answered. “Regardless, if we can-”</p><p>“No, you cannot simply change the subject like that,” Lorenz butted in. “Where are your reinforcements coming from?”</p><p>Claude sighed. “If you don’t trust me, Lorenz, trust Lord Holst. That meeting I arranged at the Locket did more than just secure the border from Almyran invaders. We found a common enemy there, and a new united front was born. Again: if you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to write to him yourself. He’ll vouch for me, I promise.”</p><p>
  <em> A new united front… Lysithea didn’t want to jinx herself, but she suspected that she was beginning to feel hopeful again… if only the Knights of Seiros had three years, though… </em>
</p><p>“On the day of Garreg Mach’s Millennium Festival, Lorenz, Lysithea, our other classmates, and I planned to reunite at the monastery, which is presently being used as a hideaway by bandits and thieves. If we retake it, we can use Garreg Mach as a bulwark against future Imperial invasions,” Claude continued. “Once it’s secured, we can launch operations all across Fódlan to meddle with the Empire and promote resistance movements. When our reinforcements arrive, Edelgard and her forces will be off-balance and primed for striking. That’s when we make our counterattack, and sue for a truce once we get the Empire on the run. If I know her at all, she’ll take it. I’m sure she can suffer our independence to keep her crown.”</p><p>“And in the meantime?” Lorenz asked. “I suppose you’ll want us to pretend to bicker amongst ourselves to prevent the Empire from diverting their forces away from the Kingdom to get involved in a nebulous power struggle here in Leicester?”</p><p>“Exactly!” the Alliance Leader responded, clearly happy that his former classmate had caught on. “If we can keep your father’s rebellion alive in strictly an economical and political sense for just three more years, we’ll minimise casualties here and be ready to unite in full later on. It does mean you’ll have to levy higher taxes on wealthy merchants and nobles in your territories and cut back yourselves to provide for the rest of your people while we wait, but those same people will follow you to whatever end if you can make it worth their while.”</p><p>“Hm, trimming our belts now to ensure our independence later…” Lord Edmund wondered aloud. “I suppose I could stand to lose a bit of weight. You may count me in.”</p><p>
  <em> Caius was the first on board? That was a surprise! </em>
</p><p>“And us,” Oleander said, putting an arm around Lysithea’s shoulders. “House Ordelia will never be under Imperial control again… and I’ve already taken steps to manage my own estate. Ask Lysithea here how she feels about her old father’s cooking and cleaning.”</p><p>The young woman smiled proudly up at her father, and he smiled right back at her.</p><p>
  <em> It was good to see some hope come back to those tired eyes of his. </em>
</p><p>“A lord who minds his own housekeeping?” the Goneril elder laughed. “Why Oleander, old friend, you’ve been putting even my boy to shame with your hard work! How could House Goneril not follow your example?”</p><p>“How could any of us?” Judith asked, laughing along with Horatio. “Isn’t that right, Gloucester boy? Noblesse oblige?”</p><p>“...Indeed,” sighed a defeated Lorenz. “Though we must make this convincing if we’re to make it work. When I return home, I’ll be telling my father only that we must tread carefully when we escalate with you. I do hope you’re ready, Claude, because it means embargos, political slander, and everything short of outright violence. If I know my father at all, he’ll sense that I have a direction with all of this and trust me to carry on as I see fit. You’ve seen to that yourself, Lysithea… Thank you for returning Thyrsus.”</p><p>
  <em> Lorenz’s magic was terrible and a wand like Thyrsus was pretty much wasted on him, but he did have a point. Entire dynasties had fought and killed each other over Hero’s Relics. Restoring Thyrsus to House Gloucester would essentially ensure that Lorenz would have his father’s ear for the foreseeable future. If it meant saving the Alliance and hopefully giving some relief to those trapped in the Kingdom, then it was a trade Lysithea was happy to make. </em>
</p><p>“I’d like to say I’m ready for most anything,” Claude japed. “In all seriousness, though: I’m counting on each one of you to make this work. Our homes, our families, our independence, our people, and even our dreams for the future rest on what you can make of the next three years. It won’t be easy, and I can’t promise it will be safe either, but I promise you that what I have in store will be well worth the effort.”</p><p>“For all of our sakes, I sincerely hope so, Claude,” came Lorenz. “You said it yourself; everything is riding on this scheme of yours. If you’re wrong, we won’t hesitate to turn against you in earnest again.”</p><p>“That’s why we are going to make it work no matter what,” Lysithea retorted. “We have more than just ourselves or our territories to consider here. For all intents and purposes, the Leicester Alliance is the last freehold against the Empire. If things go according to Claude’s plan, all of Fódlan will be looking to us as a safe haven against Imperial subjugation. Our very existence will be what brings our friends together to fight by our sides again.”</p><p>
  <em> There was no room for failure or doubt anymore. Lysithea had known for ages that she couldn’t save herself, but for the first time in a long while, she felt like she could save her parents, all of her friends… and Cyril as well. </em>
</p><p>“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Claude said with an easy smile. “Shall we wrap up for today, then? Judith, I know you’d like to do the honours.”</p><p>“Very well, boy,” the noblewoman said with a sigh, walking back to the head seat at the Round Table and waiting for the others to take their seats. Lysithea watched as Claude pulled up a stool and plopped himself down beside Judith, noticing how at ease he seemed with her. The young woman could not recall seeing Claude so comfortable around anyone since Professor Byleth disappeared some years ago. “May this nation without kings, emperors, nor monarchs remain sovereign and stable as we conclude this meeting of the Roundtable. Long may Leicester stand!”</p><p>“Long may Leicester stand!”</p><p>As Lysithea and her father filed out of the spire with the other nobles, she felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The future was yet to be decided and promised to be fraught with hardships yet to come, but Claude had brought something else home with him besides a wyvern, a bow, and an unsightly moustache that was (hopefully) not long for this world.</p><p>
  <em> Claude had brought back her hope. Hope that her parents could live peacefully in a future without her. Hope that she’d have allies at her side when she rooted out those fiends who lurked in the dark. Hope that she’d get to reunite with someone she missed very much… </em>
</p><p>“Dear, may I speak with you aside for a moment when we get the chance?” she heard her father ask from amidst the voices of others she was drowning out. “There’s something I was hoping to tell you when we got to the capital, but I’m afraid my sleepy eyes would not allow it at the time.”</p><p>Lysithea nodded and followed her father down with the others until they reached the foyer. While Claude entertained the nobles by engaging them in conversation about their families and travels, Oleander led his daughter into a quiet portion of the gardens that Judith’s soldiers had not made use of. When she asked him why he required such secrecy, her father reached into his jacket and withdrew a scroll of parchment paper for her to see.</p><p>“A contract?” the young lady asked. “With the Jeralt Mercenaries? But Captain Jeralt is-”</p><p>“I know,” Oleander responded quietly. “An old classmate of yours took command of them when your Professor disappeared. When I heard that they were coming through Ordelia territory last month, I sent your classmate a missive and hired the Jeralt Mercenaries to do a job for me. Would you like to know what it is?”</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea already had an idea. </em>
</p><p>“Father, you didn’t,” she whispered, trying hard to stop herself from laughing out of joy. “What did you pay her?”</p><p>“Enough to cover her tuition,” her father said back, a smirk working its way across his face. “Learning to keep up the manor was always my intention for the future, and now it seems I really do have a full-time post. I’m a fair diplomat, but your mother was always the better governor. I think after today, I’m going to be running you through your paces to take my seat at the Roundtable. Save for the overt threat of violence - which you really must learn to make more discreet - I’d say you handled yourself swimmingly up there. You and your classmates know which directions to take the Alliance in far better than my cohorts and I do… I think it’s time for some new blood, don’t you?”</p><p>Lysithea immediately wrapped her arms around her father and held him as tight as she dared. “Thank you, Father. You and Mother… I really could not have asked for better parents.”</p><p>“We try… though we could scarcely ask for a better daughter ourselves,” Oleander replied, tenderly hugging her back. “You’ve done everything for us, and all the words in the world could never truly express how proud we are of you. You’re our brave, fiery daughter, and you deserve to dream again.” He paused to pull back slightly. “You know, you should write to him. Your classmate is in the capital until nightfall, and you won’t have another chance for some time.”</p><p>She nodded. “I will… and I think I already know where to start.”</p><p>
  <em> There was so much Lysithea wanted to say. Though she knew not everything she wrote would be readable, she wanted to pour her whole heart out about how she had found a reason to dream again. She wanted to express her thoughts, her plans, and her feelings, but some feelings… they couldn’t be written or verbalised. Instead, she would hope that what she did write would be helpful at the very least. Something that didn’t give away too much, but put just enough out there to hopefully inspire those on the receiving end to continue to dream again as well. With any luck, it would be just what they’d all need to get them through the hardships ahead. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>With the last, two chapters ending on pretty dismal notes, I'm glad to report that this one is a breath of fresh air. Two years into the war, Lysithea is growing up a bit and very much considers herself a woman (even though she's still a teenager). I wanted this chapter to not only highlight some of her growing pains, but also display some of her capabilities as a politician. As always, she has an excellent eye for the bigger picture, but her impatience does lead her to miss out on some of the smaller details. As Lysithea sees that, she gets better at making calls, but it's going to be difficult for her to slow down a enough to catch the little things when she has so little time left. It's really a rough hand she's dealt, but I wanted this chapter to really demonstrate how well she's navigating it. This chapter also let me play around with some more original characters. Margrave Edmund (from Marianne's own description of him) is very ambitious, but not completely unethical. I think this was enough for me to write Caius as someone whose own motivations make him flexible to his peers’ policies and interested to see how their goals pan out. Hilda and Holst's dad, on the other hand, was someone I wanted to be as boisterous as his kids are. From this chapter alone, you'd probably think he's a really great person to hang out with, but the last chapter kind of informs you on some of the Goneril family's problems, which Horatio is most certainly not immune to. Finally, I was really excited to play up the political intrigue between the delegates at the Roundtable before Claude comes in to diffuse the tension and offer a solution. Claude is easily my favourite character in Three Houses, so it was very fun to write for him (and also having him throw a massive red herring into the conversation), but I also wanted to give Lorenz a chance to shine here too. The Gloucesters' position in the war isn't as straight-cut as a lot of people would have you believe, and though Lorenz's dad is undoubtedly a bad-faith actor in his political dealings, I wanted Lorenz's own political inclinations to hint that he and his dad are a lot more desperate than they let on. Throwing all of these characters into the mix together and letting them play off of each other was a real treat, and I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out. </p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it, and maybe consider sharing it around if you feel like someone you know might enjoy it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Cyril: Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1182</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Amidst the cruel realities of the present world, Cyril stands his ground.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>A CONTENT WARNING: RACIAL VIOLENCE<br/>The following chapter contains content the subject of racism as well as acts of physical and verbal violence that may be harmful or traumatising to some audiences. If you'd like to read the chapter and skip the assault, I would suggest you stop reading after "he was enough of a man to see” and continue reading from “Can you stand?”. Please be mindful and take care before proceeding.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sounds of swirling and sloshing filled the chilly night air with the sleepy melody of the river. The forests and countryside of Faerghus were deceptively stunning while bathed in moonlight, and the Blaiddyd River that ran down from the mountains north of the capital was as treacherous to navigate as it was soothing to listen to. Seemingly endless plains and sweeping meadows could fast become graveyards for the unsuspecting, and the roads, which were once so easy to follow north all the way up to Fhirdiad, had become more dangerous to travel than all of the rivers, streams, and gullies in the former Kingdom put together. Travelling by day under the cover of Faerghus’s great forests was the only safe way to move, and settling in by bodies of moving water was the only safe way to make camp in these troubled times. </p><p>
  <em> It was times like this that made Cyril long for his routine back at Garreg Mach. There was always so much to do over the course of any given day, but the weather and the company were far warmer there than here in icy Faerghus. He’d close his eyes some nights and remember breakfasts in the pleasant warmth of the morning sun or fits of laughter so hard that they stung his sides, but waking up the next hour or the next morning was a bitter reminder of how many lives a person could live in so short a time.  </em>
</p><p>“C’mon, Dedue,” Cyril murmured to the giant of a young man lying unconscious at his knees. “Ya won’t be strong enough to get up if ya don’t drink your soup. Dimitri’s out there somewhere, I promise ya.”</p><p>
  <em> With both Dimitri and Lady Rhea still nowhere to be seen, Cyril had come to the conclusion long ago that he and Dedue were in the same boat… At least as far as obligations went... </em>
</p><p>Cyril and the Knights of Seiros had been on the run from the Dukedom for the last six months, and Cornelia had been relentless in her pursuit of them. While the Knights’ leadership remained in tact, nearly seventy percent of them had been cut down or captured during the sacking of Fhirdiad. That the survivors had managed to coordinate with Dedue and the men of Duscur to free Prince Dimitri on the eve of his execution was a minor miracle, but the Prince had gone missing during the ensuing fray while the Knights and their allies suffered grievous injuries in their escape. Cyril had broken his bow and his arm when a mage blasted him and Saam into the side of a castle wall, and Dedue had been slashed, stabbed, clubbed, and battered while attempting to secure an escape route for his Duscur countrymen. If not for Flayn’s healing magic and a timely extraction led by Seteth, Cyril had no doubt that he, Dedue, and so many others there that day would have joined the legion of heads that Cornelia and the Rowes mounted on spikes outside of the capital. </p><p>“That’s it,” encouraged the boy when he saw the young man’s throat moving to slowly swallow the broth from his sponge. “Three more like that, and we can call it a night.”</p><p>As the boy reached over to draw another sponge-full of venison bone broth from his bowl, his ears picked up on a faint rustling in the undergrowth. He might have put the bowl down and reached for his hand axe instead had the rustling been any louder; there was only one person he knew who could be that quiet.</p><p>“Okay, ya probably would’ve gotten me there,” Cyril conceded, dipping his sponge into the bowl of warm broth for Dedue. “Can ya hurry the lecture up so I can finish feeding this guy?”</p><p>“No need,” Shamir said plainly, emerging from the forest with a pair of rabbits slung over her shoulder. “It wasn’t a test this time; I’m just back from hunting.”</p><p>“Could’ve fooled me,” the boy replied, eyeing the coneys his mentor had brought back with her. “You were pretty quiet there.”</p><p>“Good,” the taciturn archer responded, standing over her pupil. “I’d like to be able to walk this silently all the time. Whether it’s dinner, the enemy, or Catherine, I prefer to catch my quarry off-guard.”</p><p>
  <em> ‘Or Catherine’… It seemed like Shamir had been ‘catching her quarry off-guard’ quite a lot over the last six months when she thought no one was awake to see or hear them. Unfortunately for Cyril, his senses were very sharp… and Catherine was very loud.  </em>
</p><p>“You could probably be a bit quieter,” Cyril commented, popping the sponge gently into the Duscurman’s mouth. “What’s it look like downriver? Think we can cross it when the current dies down a bit?”</p><p>“Not with him,” said the knight, looking to Dedue. “He has until the end of the week to wake up before we leave him behind. His people, the Kingdom loyalists, and Seteth have already agreed. You and Flayn are the last ones on his side.”</p><p>“I’m not leaving him here, Shamir,” the boy insisted. “It wouldn’t be right. We can make a raft for him and-”</p><p>“Slow ourselves down enough for the Dukedom to catch up and strafe us from the shoreline,” the archer interrupted. “Listen: I know it isn’t kind, but that’s war. You have to be able to make choices like these and face the consequences. If you leave him, he dies. If you bring him with us, we all die. That includes you, me, and probably Rhea. We’re the last ones left committed to seeing her alive and free. Is he worth that to you?”</p><p>Cyril bit his lip and looked down at Dedue.</p><p>“No,” he said somberly, “but I wanna give him a chance before we just abandon him. That’s all right, isn’t it?”</p><p>Shamir nodded.</p><p>“He has until the end of the week,” she repeated.</p><p>“What day is today?” Cyril asked, looking up at her.</p><p>“Thursday,” answered Shamir, causing her pupil’s stomach to tense up in anxiety.</p><p>“Thursday…” he echoed hollowly. “Three days and he’ll be as good as dead…”</p><p>“Look: you and Flayn have given him more time than he possibly could have asked for,” the archer replied, taking a seat next to the boy. “There’s no point in flagellating yourself over something beyond your control; you aren’t a monk.”</p><p>“It’s… It’s not like that…” Cyril responded. “Dedue and I are in the same boat here. He’s got Dimitri and I’ve got Lady Rhea. It’s been two whole years since anyone saw her, and I feel like I’m… empty every day I wake up knowing she isn’t free like she’s supposed to be. I felt this way before, ya know? Everyday at the Locket, I felt this way. Lady Rhea saved me from that, and I don’t think I’m gonna stop feeling this empty until I can save her back. I think Dedue feels the same way about Dimitri...”</p><p>“And look at where his loyalty has gotten him,” Shamir said coldly, gesturing to Dedue. “Look at where your loyalty has gotten you. You’ve given away your chance at some semblance of happiness with a person who adored you, and for what? Rhea isn’t here in Faerghus. You need to stop letting your debt to her weigh you down; you’re going to drown if you do.”</p><p>Pressing his lips into a thin line and looking down at Dedue, Cyril was at a loss for a rebuttal. “What do I do, then?”</p><p>“Live,” his mentor replied, standing up and turning to walk back into the main encampment. “Live to make it up to her if you can, but also live for yourself. You’re as good as dead if you can’t do that.”</p><p>As Shamir headed off into camp with her rabbits, Cyril wondered if he had said too much. His mentor was not the type for gossip, but he felt as if his hesitation was a total condemnation of the woman who had given him his freedom. Lady Rhea was more than just that to him; she was the mother he had always wanted. He could no longer remember his real mother’s face, her voice, nor the warmth of her embrace, but all of that was alive and well when he thought of Lady Rhea.</p><p>
  <em> How could he live for himself when she was probably suffering in some Imperial dungeon somewhere? It wasn’t possible, was it? Was Shamir right again? Was he as good as dead too? </em>
</p><p>Cyril did not know the answers to these questions, so he decided to finish feeding Dedue instead of pondering them any further. After about an hour, his bowl of broth was empty and his fingers were pruned. As he wiped them off on his pants, his ears picked up another series of sounds in the distance. Whoever was making these sounds had no intention of trying to be quiet. The boy turned in the direction of the noises and narrowed his eyes when he tried to make out what was going on in the main camp. It started with some men shouting, then a loud thump followed, then there was silence again. </p><p>Cyril retrieved the sponge from Dedue’s mouth to keep him from choking on it, so he could go investigate without worry for his charge. The boy paused momentarily to look down at the young man’s face. His dark skin was covered in scars, his hair was a shaggy mess, and his face had lost a considerable amount of volume since he had fallen. He looked a bit like a corpse already, and Shamir’s words rang out in his head again. By the time Cyril averted his gaze from Dedue and moved to put the sponge back in the bowl, there was no need to investigate at all; he could see plainly what was happening.</p><p>One by one, the men of Duscur were gathering their things together and leaving. They had been extremely patient with the Kingdom loyalists these past months, but Cyril knew without having to ask that tensions between the two groups had reached their boiling point. The men of Duscur had been subjugated by the loyalists’ countrymen since the Tragedy, and the loyalists themselves had spent those six years letting their hatred fester. As Cyril saw things, the time they had spent on the run together was bound to fall apart. It took two parties to have a dialogue, and one group here did not care at all to listen to the other. Looking out to see Alois imploring the Duscurmen to stay, Cyril sighed sadly. He likely understood their position better than anyone else in Faerghus. </p><p>
  <em> If the loyalists weren’t busy blaming Duscur for what happened to Dimitri’s dad and all of those people six years ago, then they were busy blaming them for the position they all were in now. That wasn’t the truth at all, but stupid people hardly minded inconvenient things like the truth. Cyril had learned that lesson from the Almyrans and the Gonerils, and it looked like it would play out again here in the Kingdom… or the Dukedom… or whatever they wanted to call Faerghus these days. The whole world had a problem with outsiders, and as much as he hated to admit it to himself… Lady Rhea hadn’t done much at all to fix that... </em>
</p><p>“You there,” came the deep voice of an approaching Duscurman. “You and the little one have been kind to Molinaro. I thank you for that.”</p><p>“Oh… it was nothing, Nenno,” Cyril replied, looking up at the man and then over to Dedue. “I wish I could do more for him… for all of ya guys.”</p><p>“Look to yourself,” Nenno responded. “When we are gone, the soldiers of Faerghus will turn their ire to you. You are as much a heathen to them as we are. You should come with us. The way to Duscur is long and harsh, but our homeland is beautiful and free of the Kleimans now thanks to the Prince. If you help us rebuild, you could start a new life there. Molinaro would approve.”</p><p>The boy smiled and shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. Just like Dedue’s got Dimitri, I got someone counting on me too. I can’t go anywhere until I pay her back for what she’s done for me.”</p><p>The Duscurman sighed and offered Cyril a sympathetic look. “Men like you and Molinaro aren’t long for a world as cruel as this; it does not deserve you. You call yourself ‘Cyril’, but we both know that isn’t your name. Tell it to me, so I can keep your story alive when you are gone.”</p><p>“My name <em> is </em>Cyril,” the boy said simply. “It's the name I chose when I started my new life here, and that’s who I want to be remembered as. Is that good enough for ya?”</p><p>Nenno nodded and took a knee so he could meet Cyril at eye level. “Farewell, Cyril. May you and Molinaro know a gentle end and peace in your next lives.”</p><p>“I'm glad I met ya guys,” said Cyril in kind. “I hope ya get home safe.”</p><p>As Nenno stood up and walked through the woods towards where the rest of his people were heading off from, the boy closed his eyes and tried to let the sounds of the river and forest calm his nerves. He did not want to admit it - not even to himself - but he was grateful to the men of Duscur for bearing the brunt of the loyalists’ hatred. The people of Faerghus had called him horrid names and thrown things at him when Dimitri was still around, and he was not sure of what they would do now that the Prince was missing.</p><p>“I’m never gonna see her again, am I?” Cyril quietly asked the unconscious young man in his care. Which ‘her’ he was referring to was unclear, even to him. “I’m not sure either of us has three days left, ya think?”</p><p>The unconscious young man did not answer, and Cyril opened his eyes to stare up at the night sky peeking out from the canopy of trees above him. He could see Saam circling above head, proudly wheeling in the sky and probably looking for something to eat. The sight of his wyvern made him smile.</p><p>
  <em> When they came for him and Dedue, Cyril hoped Saam wouldn’t come down to protect him. He wanted Saam to fly off and be free. Where would he go? He probably wouldn’t stay in Faerghus for very long; he liked the cold just about as much as Cyril did. Maybe he’d end up in the Empire and find Lady Rhea. Would she recognise him as Cyril’s wyvern if he did? Or maybe he’d head east. He could fly all the way out to the Almyran border, and roam wild and free in the mountains there. That would be a good place for him. Or maybe he wouldn’t go that far… maybe he’d end up somewhere warm by a different river. Saam had a good sense of smell and he knew someone who lived in a place like that… </em>
</p><p>Lost in his thoughts, the boy built a small fire to keep himself and Dedue warm, then settled himself in for the rest of the night. Hours passed, dawn was fast approaching, and Cyril could now feel himself nodding off. The main camp had settled down once the men of Duscur were gone, and the boy had not seen any movement from the others for quite a while. Manuela and Hanneman were supposed to be on watch around this time of the morning, and the air felt very still.</p><p>
  <em> Maybe one of them was keeping an eye on him and Dedue. In an hour or so, Shamir and Catherine would be getting up together, and one of them would definitely come over to check on him. Maybe it was all right to rest his eyes for a couple minutes. Maybe… </em>
</p><p>Before Cyril could allow his thoughts to lull him to sleep, he heard something in the undergrowth again. This time, it was hardly quiet enough to be Shamir. His breath hitched and his eyes opened wide to take in as much of his surroundings as they could. When he reached for his hand axe, he heard someone drawing a bow.</p><p>“Touch it and you die,” came the familiar voice of a man from behind a nearby tree. “We just want the savage gone so we can cross the river. No need for you to feed the worms today, heathen boy.”</p><p>“I can shout plenty loud,” Cyril said back. “Shouts move faster than arrows, and I can tell ya that the Knights don’t like waking up to either of them.”</p><p>“You want your friends to die too?” the man asked. “We don’t want the Goddess to hate us, but we will protect ourselves. My friend here got the bright idea of snatching up Thunderbrand from Lady Cassandra before we came over, and I doubt she can take the lot of us without it.”</p><p>“Prove it,” the boy demanded. He kept his eyes fixed on the woods before he caught a glimpse of a hand holding out the sheathed Hero’s Relic. “Okay, I won’t shout. Just don’t try to use it; you’ll turn into a monster if you try.”</p><p>“Noted! Now be a good heathen boy and stay put,” the hidden man replied. “I need you right where you are now so I can come over for a chat, yeah? I’ll even put down my sword and dagger to show I mean you no harm.”</p><p>Cyril did not respond, instead choosing to listen out for how many soldiers were hiding in the nearby woods. He heard at least five men and three women breathing, two others in jingling chainmail, the gulp of the archer who had a bead on him, and the familiar man unsheathing his weapons and dropping them on the forest floor next to Thunderbrand.</p><p>
  <em> Twelve all together. Even if the archer missed their mark, Cyril couldn’t take on twelve people alone. If Saam came down, the trees would slow him enough for the marksman to shoot him down before he got a chance to fight back. This was the end… </em>
</p><p>“See?” the man said, appearing from behind the tree with his hands raised. True to his word, his sword and dagger were not in their sheaths. “I’m going to come over now, and we’ll have a nice and quiet chat.”</p><p>The boy was in no position to refuse him and nodded, allowing the man to walk over to where he and Dedue were. As he drew closer, Cyril realised why the man’s voice sounded so familiar; it was Commander Dake. Dressed in his armour and surcoat, the man’s chilling blue eyes overshadowed the rest of his relatively ordinary features. Dake had been the person to lead the Kingdom loyalists when they and the others went to free Dimitri, and he was a fierce fighter. Cyril had come to know the man as a bold, shrewd, but very stubborn soldier, as well as someone who never made much of an attempt to hide his hatred for him.</p><p>“Heathen boy,” Dake sang as if greeting him fondly. “You and little Flayn have done everything you could to bring this savage back from the dead. It’s very admirable.”</p><p>“I have a name,” the boy said sharply. “And so does he.”</p><p>“Yes… Cyril, was it?” the commander responded, correcting himself. “And poor Dedue. For a savage, I have to hand it to him: he did everything he could for Prince Dimitri. He fought for him, rallied his savage brothers to answer the Kingdom’s call, and went through a meat grinder of swords and spears to get our Prince out of his lonely cell.”</p><p>“Then why do ya want to kill him?” Cyril asked angrily.</p><p>“We’ve been over this, Cyril,” Dake replied. “The river. Your friends in the Knights told you what would happen if we tried to bring anything across with us that wasn’t fastened to our backs, didn’t they? We’re even leaving our armour behind so none of us sink.”</p><p>“I don’t believe ya,” the boy responded. “Why’d ya send the men of Duscur away?”</p><p>“It was for the best,” the man answered. “We’re to link up with the Kingdom loyalists on the other side of this river. Do you know who leads them, Cyril? The Duke Frauldarius and the Margrave Gautier. Both men sent troops to subjugate Duscur a number of years back. The conflict was brief but bloody, and their banners were well known among the savages that lived there. Do you think those same savages would so obediently fight beside such men?”</p><p>“Stop calling them that,” Cyril growled. “They aren’t savages; they haven’t done anything to any of ya. Your Prince said so himself.”</p><p>“Ah yes, Prince Dimitri,” Dake sighed, shaking his head. “The very picture of sanity, wouldn’t you say so?”</p><p>Unable to counter, Cyril furrowed his brow and grit his teeth. He dared not peel his eyes off of Dake for fear of catching an arrow between them when his guard was down.</p><p>“His Highness is my Prince, and he will always have my loyalty, but I’m afraid it takes a savage to know a savage,” the commander continued. “He may not have killed Duke Rufus, but make no mistake, Cyril: Prince Dimitri himself was a savage of the highest order. Were he not, he’d never toss his lot in with those beasts from Duscur.”</p><p>“I said stop calling them that!” the boy said sharply. “Just listen to yourself! Ya call these guys from Duscur ‘savages’ and ‘beasts’ while also admitting that your people came into their homes and attacked them. What does that make ya guys from Faerghus? They weren’t even the ones who did those things to your king and all your friends, but ya still killed them and took over their country! Did ya guys even stop to talk it out? Yeah: Dimitri was crazy, but at least he was enough of a man to see-”</p><p>Before Cyril could finish his point, something hard hit him in the jaw and he felt time itself slow down as he hit the ground. His head was spinning now, and he was very likely concussed. When he realised that barely a few seconds had passed since he was interrupted by Dake’s fist, he tasted the blood in his mouth before he felt the commander’s foot collide hard against his side.</p><p>“You have quite the mouth for a heathen, Cyril,” Dake taunted quietly as he continued to kick the boy on the ground. “I think a few broken ribs will keep it from spewing anymore nonsense. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but this is not your country! It isn’t even your continent! What could you possibly know?”</p><p>In between kicks, the boy would open his mouth to say something back, only to find that the wind had been knocked clear from his lungs. He could not speak any more than the man would listen to him further. When Cyril reached for his axe, Dake stopped kicking him to press the heel of his boot deep into the boy’s hand, only stopping when it crunched painfully beneath his foot. </p><p>“You know: by the laws of this land, I could kill you for that,” the commander sighed, lifting his boot from Cyril’s broken hand. “It would be self defense. You reached for a deadly weapon to attack me with, and I merely acted to protect myself. That would ensure your silence, and allow my colleagues and me to drag that savage off to die in a quiet, secluded part of the woods. I think that’s the thing for it at this point in time, don’t you?”</p><p>
  <em> Talking back to Dake like that was stupid, but Cyril never could control his tongue when he was mad. Now, it was going to cost him his life… and Dedue’s as well… </em>
</p><p>Flipping Cyril onto his back with his foot, Dake gave the boy a hard look, and Cyril stared back at him. If the Kingdom officer was going to take his life, Cyril wanted to look him in the eyes when he did it. The commander broke eye contact for but a moment to reach down and pick up Cyril’s hand axe. When the piercing blue of Dake’s eyes met his own gaze again, the boy could tell that he really was going to die here. </p><p>“Well, I’m afraid it’s off to the eternal flames with you,” said Dake, his tone almost warm as he raised the axe to strike. “Goodbye, Cyril. For a cheeky heathen, you were really quite brave-”</p><p>A sudden screech broke the air, and Cyril looked past his wouldbe killer to see Saam descending angrily on the loyalists in the forest below him. The boy felt a jolt run up his spine as he picked up on the sound of the archer shifting in the bushes to refocus their aim. It would be the end of them both after all. Cyril closed his eyes and braced himself to hear the loosing of the sharpshooter’s arrow and the crash of poor Saam smashing into the ground. Though he himself was prepared to die, he did not have the heart to watch his wyvern get shot down while trying to protect him.</p><p>
  <em> It was unfair that Saam would die for his loyalty… As would Dedue… And Cyril himself as well… Nenno said that men like him and Dedue weren’t long for this world probably because of their loyalty, but Cyril didn’t consider himself a man. He was the same boy he had always been; sharp-tongued, honest, hard-working, stubborn, and feisty. Those were some good traits, weren’t they? If Lysithea really did like him at all, it was probably because she was the same way. Here at the end of his life, was he really thinking about her instead of Lady Rhea? Maybe that wasn’t such a bad way to go… </em>
</p><p>Cyril heard an arrow whizz through the air and then he heard a crash… a small one… and then he heard Saam’s screeches and roars again. When the boy opened his eyes, he saw his wyvern very much alive, slashing and biting at the mutineers in the forest. Then he saw Dake, still standing over him. The man looked at him again and raised the axe, but was pulled clean off his feet from behind by something Cyril could not quite see yet. When the boy managed to prop himself up on his unbroken hand, he saw Dake clenched hard in Dedue’s arms, his face going red as the giant Duscurman squeezed the breath from him. Another arrow whistled out from a different direction, and soon Cyril realised that Shamir had gotten up to rally the Knights against the mutineers. </p><p>
  <em> If Shamir had come from camp, though, who fired the first arrow? </em>
</p><p>“Can you stand?” asked Dedue, dropping the limp man in his arms onto the ground. “If so, you should go to the others without me. It seems my arms have found their strength back before my legs have.”</p><p>Cyril shook his head and collapsed back down onto the ground. His head was still spinning and the rest of his body ached so badly that he tried to breathe as little as possible to keep the pain at bay.</p><p>“Y-Yeah…? I’m actually real… grateful they did…” Cyril replied weakly, spitting out a glob of saliva and blood as he curled up on the forest floor. A sudden chill overtook his body and shivering followed thereafter, making the pain all the worse, but the boy could not keep himself from smiling. If it did not promise to be excruciatingly painful, he may have even laughed. “Ya… Ya really took your time… huh, Dedue...?”</p><p>Though he could not see Dedue’s face from this position, Cyril imagined he was smiling along with him. Cyril had never seen Dedue smile before, as the young man was always so serious, but it was amusing to imagine. As Cyril drifted out of consciousness, he felt as if he was floating in the nearby river. His body pained him for a time, but he himself felt weightless. Save for the memories that occasionally flashed in his mind while he slept, Cyril’s dreams were always pitchy black and devoid of gravity. The boy never dwelt on much when he dreamt, but his head was aswim with thoughts today.</p><p>
  <em> Dedue’s smile was probably scary, but the good kind of scary. The kind of scary you’d be happy to have on your side. More importantly, though, Dedue being awake and possibly smiling here meant that Cyril had finally proved Shamir wrong about something. Dedue was going to be all right. They’d all cross the river together, and then the big guy could go off to try to find Dimitri, wherever he was. If there was hope for Dedue, then there was hope for Cyril too. He would live. If he could live through this, he could live to repay Lady Rhea, and then live for himself a while afterwards. Just thinking about it was enough to make him feel like laughing. Even if it hurt, it felt good to be right… For now, though, it was time to rest. His eyelids were already so heavy before Dake beat him up, and it sounded like Flayn was coming over to help… He’d thank her when he got up. </em>
</p><p>When he woke, Cyril’s head felt several sizes too large and his mouth was very dry. He tried to open his eyes, but the sunlight was blinding. Though Cyril wanted to turn his head to avoid it, he quickly realised that his neck was in a brace. Instead, the boy moved his arm up to shield his face and felt his hand ache slightly. It was then that he realised that he had not been asleep for very long.</p><p>
  <em> Bones always felt funny after being put back together with healing magic… judging by the pain and the tingling in his hand and chest, he figured he had only been out for maybe five hours or so. </em>
</p><p>“You were supposed to sleep in,” he heard Shamir say bluntly. “It isn’t even noon yet.”</p><p>“Ah...” he gasped weakly, his throat too dry to properly form coherent words. His mentor groaned and brought a wooden cup up to his mouth to sip from.</p><p>“Slowly,” she instructed. “You’re going to aspirate if you inhale it.”</p><p>When the water went down his throat, Cyril felt a dull soreness sear across his ribs and diaphragm, but nothing much more painful than that. Flayn was a very talented healer, and she would probably never let him forget it.</p><p>“Thanks,” the boy murmured after draining the cup. “Where’s Dedue?”</p><p>“I’m here,” he heard the large young man say. “As is Dake. As much as I’d have liked to, I did not kill him. He will need to answer for his crimes when he wakes. For now, he is manacled to his cot.”</p><p>“You have some kind of luck,” answered Shamir. “Dedue’s people came back for the pair of you after they ran into a group of mercenaries. If the Duscurmen didn’t lead them here, you’d be dead.”</p><p>“Mercenaries?” Cyril asked, trying to remember if he had personally known any mercenary companies. “Kingdom mercenaries?”</p><p>“Not quite,” the voice of a familiar girl rang out. He had not heard this voice since Garreg Mach. “Try the Jeralt Mercenaries!”</p><p>“Leonie!” he exclaimed, as the former student of the Golden Deer House made her way to the foot of his cot. Though he was pleasantly surprised to see her again, it took but a second for his face to grow long with shock. “Uh... what the heck did ya do to your hair?”</p><p>“I cut it just like Captain Jeralt’s,” the young woman said proudly, pointing at her head with her thumb. The sides of Leonie’s head had been shaved to the scalp, while the top was a little longer than when he had last seen her. Perhaps worst of all was the ugly orange braid that dangled from the back of her head like a rat’s tail. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”</p><p>
  <em> How could she be so proud of this? </em>
</p><p>“No,” Cyril answered brusquely. “Has no one said anything to ya about it yet? Leonie, it looks terrible. Ya look like a goat ate off most of your hair.”</p><p>“It really isn’t good, Leonie,” Shamir concurred. “Come find me after you deliver your message to Cyril here; I’m going to cut your hair like I did for Dedue. That wasn’t an offer. We can’t be seen with you if you leave it looking like that.”</p><p>When Cyril heard an amused snort from the other side of the makeshift infirmary, he knew for sure that Dedue was smiling this time.</p><p>“Sh-Shut up!” Leonie barked, her face now flushed with embarrassment. “Okay, fine! As long as it’s free! You stay put where you are, though, Shamir! You too, Dedue! This message was meant for Cyril, but the sender wanted everyone here to hear it. Here! Open it up and read it!”</p><p>The boy still did not know how to read, but his swimming head gave him the perfect excuse. “I’m still seeing double, Leonie. I got hit pretty hard before ya came. Can ya read it for me?”</p><p>“Oh! Um… sure!” the young mercenary responded. “I’ve been carrying this thing on me for a month now, never expecting that I’d be the one to open it up. Let’s see here…”</p><p>As Leonie ran her thumb under the lip of the envelope, Cyril caught a brief glimpse of the seal stamped in purple wax. It was from House Ordelia.</p><p>“Dear, Cyril,” Leonie began. “It’s been two years since the Battle of Garreg Mach, but I haven’t forgotten you. I regret that we weren’t able to meet up last year to bring the war to the Empire, but I promise you that affairs in Fódlan will begin improving even in spite of the present turmoil. You know I don’t make claims like this without evidence, so please have faith in me and hold on for a little while longer. There will come a day when we will all be able to feel hope stir in our hearts again, and I just know I’ll see you in person when that day arrives. Until then, keep up your search for Lady Rhea and remember that I’m always right. Yours sincerely, Lysithea.”</p><p>Leonie took a deep breath once she was finished reading, and handed the letter over to Cyril. </p><p>“You two always were such good friends,” chimed the ginger mercenary merrily. “Though I wonder what all of that talk of faith and evidence was about. It sounded important.”</p><p>“She knows something,” Cyril responded, smiling as he looked down at his letter from Lysithea. “This is a heads up for something big.”</p><p>“Do you think the Alliance has a plan?” Shamir asked. “Your partner is the daughter of one of its Roundtable lords. If she knows something, it’s likely coming from the top.”</p><p>“Claude’s always planning his next scheme, isn’t he?” answered the boy, surprised by how relieved he was in saying so. “Leonie, what’s it like in the Alliance right now?”</p><p>“A mess,” the young woman grunted, folding her arms at her chest. “Every major territory there is having a dispute with each other, and it makes crossing between them a nightmare. My home village is in Gloucester territory, and you wouldn’t believe the crossing fees they make mercenaries pay! All the other Alliance territories seem to be closed off like that too, and their leaders are constantly threatening each other with violence or sanctions!”</p><p>Cyril knitted his brows together and scanned his letter, nearly forgetting that he could not read it. Leonie’s description of the present state of the Alliance was vastly different from the impression he had gotten of it from Lysithea. It was evident from the silence of the others that this discrepancy was not lost on them either. If Claude and the other lords of the Alliance had a plan to bring back Fódlan’s hope, it did not seem to be working.</p><p>“Has it actually come to any violence?” Dedue finally asked from the other side of the infirmary.</p><p>Leonie took a seat on the cot across from Cyril and rubbed her chin while she pondered the question. “Come to think of it: no. The County of Gloucester is the only region of the Alliance crawling with Imperial troops, but none of them are organised to march. Instead, the Count keeps them busy by having them clean up his territory’s bandit problems. You guys don’t think…?”</p><p>“Claude’s using the conflict in the Alliance to bide his time,” came Shamir. “It’s a strategy that puts the entire nation’s economy in jeopardy, but also keeps the Empire from getting involved for fear of throwing that advantage away by reunifying their enemies. Edelgard and Cornelia have had their hands tied with us and the Kingdom forces across the river, so manufacturing a cold war was the best possible way for the Alliance to stay neutral and wait for an opportunity to present itself.”</p><p>“That’s why Lysithea told us to believe in her!” Cyril said excitedly, trying hard to ignore the pain in his sides. “Ugh, ouch… Though what exactly is Claude waiting for?”</p><p>“That, I’m sure only Claude himself knows,” Leonie sighed with a shrug. “That guy’s secrets have secrets. More importantly, Cyril: you can’t stay here.”</p><p>“What do ya mean ‘more importantly’?!” the boy demanded. “Not happening, Leonie! I’m staying here with the Knights.”</p><p>“You can stay with the Knights, Cyril, but you can’t be with these Kingdom jerks anymore! You or Dedue!” the young mercenary retorted. “Look at yourself, Cyril: if my hair is as bad as you say it is, you look like a ham someone rolled down a steep hill. I’ll talk to Alois about this, but it isn’t any safer for you on the Dukedom side of the river than it is on the Kingdom side.”</p><p>“I don’t care about being safe,” Cyril protested. “In case ya haven’t noticed, Leonie: nowhere in Fódlan is safe for someone like me. Heck, I couldn’t even go back to Almyra if I wanted to. There’re people like Dake all over the place, and I just gotta learn how to deal with ‘em. If I’m gonna be in danger, I wanna be in danger while trying to find Lady Rhea.”</p><p>“Cyril isn’t wrong,” Dedue added. “Even before the Tragedy of Duscur, my people knew great distrust from the world around them. Only His Highness cared to see our people as people. The only hope Duscur has is for me to find Prince Dimitri and pray that helping him take revenge against his enemies will be enough to soothe his weary soul. Perhaps by aiding the Knights of Seiros in freeing Lady Rhea, Cyril can affect change in a similar regard.”</p><p>“I think you’re giving me too much credit, Dedue,” the boy said simply. “I just wanna see Lady Rhea be free again. I’m not the changer ya think I am.”</p><p>“If any of that were true, I would be dead in the woods,” countered the large young man. “Nenno told me how you and Flayn cared for me while I was incapacitated, and I don’t believe you took that beating from Dake merely because he hates Almyrans. There is more to you than you give yourself credit for, Cyril, and I will never forget what you have done for me.”</p><p>“No objections here,” Leonie added in, “but at least let the Jeralt Mercenaries see you guys across the Blaiddyd River with your gear and provisions. We weren’t just hired to deliver that letter, you know? The Ordelias want you guys safe. You need a bow too, right? I can get you a bow. If I can do all that and know that you won’t starve on the road to… wherever you’re going, I can sleep easy.”</p><p>“And I think we’ll all sleep a little easier once Shamir cuts your hair,” Cyril joked, prompting a pair of rare scoffs from the two most taciturn people he had ever met. It was not long before a few of the other Knights of Seiros filed into the infirmary to hear from Cyril, Dedue, and Leonie as well. Shamir filled them in on the ember of hope stirring within the Alliance, while Cyril proudly passed his letter from Lysithea around for the others to read. Each time someone new read it aloud, the boy felt a sense of lightness in his chest that just about managed to obscure the pain from the beating he had taken earlier that morning. </p><p>
  <em> For as awful as people could be, things were already starting to look up. Cyril was sure he would never live to see the end of the hateful looks so many people in Fódlan showed him, but the people around him now gave him a sliver of hope that things could be better. Dake was wrong about what he had said earlier. Fódlan may not have been Cyril’s place of birth, but whether he wanted to or not, he was starting to see that he had a stake in it... and it made him feel valuable… like he might have belonged here as much as anyone else did. And for as confusing as Fódlan politics were, Cyril knew that someone important still cared about him enough to rescue him from another nation away. His head might have been a bit woozy, his hand still hadn’t healed all the way, and his chest still stung, but his heart… it felt pretty good. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is probably the most personal and topical chapter I've written to date. Instead of going super in-depth with a chapter summary for my endnote today or talking too much about my personal life, I wanted to level with you all. Between the 1st anniversary of the murder of Breonna Taylor, the shocking police response to Clapham vigil on 13 March, and the acts of violence committed against Asian-Americans in Atlanta and other parts of the US, the last week has put me in a certain kind of mood again. Acting on that mood, I decided to confront some of these issues in as realistic a fashion as I could get for this fic. What resulted was a brief but brutal display of racial violence committed by a character I hoped to make as seemingly unexceptional as humanly possible. The character of Dake is meant to be a reminder of how ordinary people can be capable of immense acts of cruelty when guided by ignorance, arrogance, selfishness, and a general lack of perspective, and how even people who are supposed to be the "good guys" can let us down. </p><p>Ultimately, however, I wanted this chapter to be a win for Cyril. I wanted to showcase his solidarity, compassion, loyalty, and bravery, and how these things can help people come together to resist the cruelty of the world around us. The letter he gets at the end of this chapter resents how powerful simple acts of kindness and trust can be in keeping hope alive in others, as well as a stern rejection of Cyril's long-held belief that he doesn't have a place in Fódlan. To all of my readers: please be kind and compassionate wherever life takes you. There are some awful forces at work in the world, and none of us stand a chance against them alone.</p><p>In solidarity,<br/>C</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Lysithea: Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1183</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lysithea must navigate a frustrating evening as she continues to develop her plans for the future.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were few functions in Fódlan quite so needlessly extravagant and mindless as a ball, especially in the midst of an international conflict. While soldiers fought and died, commoners fled their homes to escape the violence, and the military brass planned out their next moves, the nobility busied themselves by cramming their bodies into suits or gowns, making up their hair and faces, and strutting about the ballrooms and gardens of luxurious estates. The supposed point of it all was to establish political connections and uphold the facade that the current class system was something to be celebrated, but the reality was that it was as much a game of appeasement as it was a colossal waste of money.</p><p>As carriage wheels clattered down the pebble-strewn road towards Edgar Fortress, the light of the eventide sun glowed orange against everything it touched. Inside, this meant that a certain countess had the requisite lighting she needed to fuss mercilessly over her daughter’s hair. While war and strife bubbled to a boil in the world outside the County of Ordelia, a different kind of battle was being waged by two women in a carriage.</p><p>“Mother! That’s enough!” Lysithea shouted, scrunching up her face as she squirmed to escape her mother’s grasp. “My hair looks fine as it is!”</p><p>“You can’t see yourself at the present, dear!” Dahlia groaned, pinning a lock of her daughter’s snowy locks in place. “Honestly, what am I to do with you?”</p><p>“Ow! That hurts!” the young woman yelped, jerking her head away when the hair pin her mother put in painfully scraped her scalp. “J-Just leave it be! I’ve been more than patient with you!”</p><p>“You have a very loose definition of the word ‘patient’, Lysithea,” the countess huffed, throwing up her arms and relenting as her daughter moved to the seat across from her. “Heavens, you’ve gone and ruined it!”</p><p>
  <em> This was the worst! If Lysithea had to choose between attending a ball her godfather sporadically threw in her honour and facing down the Death Knight again, she would have leapt into battle in a heartbeat with a spring in her step. </em>
</p><p>“Ugh, I’m sorry, Mother,” Lysithea conceded with a sigh, pulling the pin out and smoothing her hair down a bit. “This is all a bit… much. You know how I feel about functions like these. Perhaps we can brush my hair down again, and I could wear one of your veils? You and I could match for once!”</p><p>“But, Lysithea, your shoulders!” Dahlia protested. “You have a lovely, slender neck and such delicate shoulders. Do you really want to cover them up by wearing your hair down as you always do?”</p><p>“So do you, Mother!” the young noblewoman retorted. “And don’t bring Father up as an excuse! Marriage has nothing to do with how you personally present yourself, and you can’t hide behind him while he’s in Derdriu!”</p><p>“Oh, you’ve cut me to the bone!” her mother said dramatically, pretending not to be impressed by her daughter’s perceptiveness. “Fine then! Let’s see which of my veils matches that lovely gown of yours. The white one won’t do, obviously, but how about the one in puce? It compliments your eyes rather nicely, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>Dahlia rifled through her reticule until she produced the veil she was after, laying it flat on the cushioned seat beside her before going back in to retrieve a few others. Picking up the delicate article of silken fabric and holding it up to a lock of her hair, Lysithea sighed and shook her head. It may have matched her eyes well enough, but the whiteness of her hair made wearing warmer colours a point of insecurity for her. Her mother withdrew a few others in cooler shades and a variety of patterns, and eventually the young noblewoman settled on a periwinkle veil that went well enough with her evening gown.</p><p>“A fine choice,” Dahlia hummed in approval, moving in her seat to make room for her daughter to sit beside her. “Now come here and let me brush your hair down, dear. No more pins, I promise.”</p><p>Lysithea obliged, carefully getting up and moving to her mother’s side quickly so that she would not fall if the carriage went over a rock in the road. She turned slightly to allow the countess access to the back of her head and felt the fine teeth of her mother’s favourite comb glide comfortably through her hair. This was very different from the frustrating ordeal of trying to pin her long, thick locks up into an overly-elaborate bun, and Lysithea relished the simple feeling of having her mother brush her hair.</p><p>“I know how you feel about these stuffy functions, dear, but try to understand the position we put your godfather in,” the countess instructed from behind the young woman. “Were it not for him and his men, none of those fife lords or merchant chiefs would have complied with your proposals. We would never have been able to reallocate all of that tax revenue back to the land, and achieving even a modicum of self-sufficiency would have been out of the question. Even with all of the progress we’ve made over the last year, Lord Edgar is still quite unpopular amongst the peerage.”</p><p>“I know,” grunted Lysithea. “Though if you asked me, I’d say it’s frankly stupid. Our winter granaries are set to be filled before the end of summer, we’ve built new roads and bridges to make transport within Ordelia territory easier, and the people are clearly grateful. You’d think happier subjects and greater yields would mean happier nobles, but none of them like being told what to do, do they?”</p><p>“Most of them are crabs in a bucket, dear,” the countess said, likely rolling her eyes. “If they can’t be the ones to claim the credit and climb the ladder, they’ll happily drag anyone else down to their level. Your godfather is a shrewd man. He knows that his fortress and his soldiers make him the second greatest lord in the land, which means that everyone else is after his position. Hosting a ball like this is the best way for him to calm the tempers of his dissenters and assess his adversaries. Besides, this is also about your debut as a successful administrator. You know how much that man loves to celebrate you.”</p><p>“He does, doesn’t he?” the young lady chuckled. “Though, I’d have preferred a cake or some sweets over tea.”</p><p>“Yes, but I’m afraid politics are hardly ever so sweet,” Dahlia replied, her voice more concerned now than amused. “As I’m sure you’ll see plainly at the ball. Be warned that there will be some very frustrating people vying for your attention tonight, possibly including Count Gloucester’s boy. If you think you might have an episode at any time this evening, please come find me, all right, dear?”</p><p>“I’ll be just fine, Mother,” she huffed, waving off her mother’s concerns. “I’m hardly a child any longer, and I haven’t had an <em> ‘episode’ - </em>as you like to call them - since back at Garreg Mach. If I can navigate policy at home and combat on the battlefield, I’m sure this silly ball will be nothing!”</p><p>“If you say so, dear, but please keep me in mind,” her mother said as she continued to brush. “Which reminds me: how did you come up with that plan of yours? Claude simply asked us all to tighten our belts, but your plan completely overhauled our existing systems of taxation and land use. The nobles and the wealthy will never admit it, but you managed to improve the standard of living for everyone in our territory… in the midst of a war, no less!”</p><p>“Thank you, Mother, but it wasn’t all my idea,” Lysithea sighed happily as she savoured the sensation of the comb running through her hair. “In truth… I took a lot of inspiration from the enemy. When Edelgard and I were friends at the Academy, she spoke so passionately about building a future where one’s merits determined their worth. In her heart, she believes that the world she’s trying to build will be full of people striving to make the very best of things, where only the excellent can rise to the top. I liked the premise of her idea, but I never got around to voicing my concerns with its flaws. People can’t rise up to meet their full potential when they’re hungry or their neighbours have an unfair advantage over them, and certainly not when they’re subject to someone else’s rule by means of force. In that regard, she’s really not that different from Rhea. Thinking back on the very last letter Edelgard sent me… I’m glad I chose not to join her.”</p><p>“And that would be because?” her mother asked curiously.</p><p>“...I don’t have an especially high opinion of the Archbishop,” the young noblewoman admitted. “For Edelgard to meet Rhea’s absolutism with a similar approach seemed counterproductive at best… and cataclysmic at worst.”</p><p>Dahlia paused her brushing for a brief moment and let out a knowing hum. “And so you helped your friends defend Lady Rhea and the Church? Why do you think that was? You know you could have come home and stayed out of it all together.”</p><p>Lysithea gulped and turned her eyes down to the carpet that lined the floor of the carriage. </p><p>
  <em> Darn it! What did Lysithea expect? She knew her mother was sharp! </em>
</p><p>“I weighed the costs carefully and it made sense at the time to me,” she said, clearing her throat. “Besides, Mother, we made all of this happen without trampling over anyone! Neither Rhea nor Edelgard could have done that!”</p><p>“I don’t disagree,” the countess replied, sounding noticeably satisfied. It was likely she had gotten the answer she was after from subtext. “What we’ve done here would have been just as impossible in Edelgard’s world as it was in Lady Rhea’s. When you set a dangerous precedent in the name of something that seems good, the people who come after you will follow it. Best to break that chain entirely!”</p><p>Lysithea nodded and stayed quiet.</p><p>
  <em> If it weren’t for the Professor, Claude… and for Cyril, Lysithea imagined she might well have taken Edelgard’s side. Those cruel mages the Empire was sheltering would have to be dealt with before anything else got done, but joining Edelgard and helping her adjust her vision for the future wasn’t out of the realm of imagination for her… at least, back then. Even though there were rumours going around that the Emperor herself approved of the Ordelias’ reforms, her forces had done too much damage in Fódlan for Lysithea to feel comfortable siding with her in earnest. Edelgard’s war had killed too many people, upheaved the lives of so many more, and subjected nearly all of Fódlan to chaos and strife. Lysithea didn’t care for the Church, but she liked the stories she heard coming from the Empire even less. Book burnings, persecutions on religious officials, reeducation curriculums… It was too much! A nun who managed to escape across the Airmid from Enbarr even went as far as to say that the Empire was now teaching children that the Fell King, Nemesis, was the true hero of all those old stories. Rewriting history was something Lysithea had come to know the Church for after perusing the library in Abyss… but it wasn’t something she expected from Edelgard. As always, her mother was right: it was best to break the chain entirely. </em>
</p><p>“And there we are!” Dahlia chimed happily, turning Lysithea around by the shoulders to face her. “The others there won’t get as good a view of your neck or shoulders as they might have before, dear, but I must admit that your hair is really quite lovely when it’s down. We’re almost at your godfather’s fortress, you know. Shall we get this veil onto you before we’re expected to step out onto the welcoming rug?”</p><p>Lysithea nodded and allowed her mother to work her magic. Unlike the coifs or habits that nuns and priestesses of the Church of Seiros wore, the veils that Dahlia wore were much more of an accessory than a means to protect a woman’s modesty. They only covered a small part of the back of the head and neck, and were often made with patterned fabrics or sewn-on flourishes. The countess herself made the veils she wore in her spare time, and liked to fasten them into place with stylish barretts or beaded hair ties. Lysithea would be getting the full treatment today, and her mother handed her a small purse mirror once she was done to allow her daughter to inspect her handiwork.</p><p>“I’ll have to make you your own clips one of these days, but I think I did rather well with what I had on hand, wouldn’t you say?”  the countess asked, smiling at Lysithea in the mirror from behind her shoulder.</p><p>“Certainly,” the young woman replied, astonished at how well her mother’s veil seemed to suit her. “I may just ask you to make a few of these for me in the future.”</p><p>“I can certainly arrange to do that for you,” Dahlia replied warmly as the wheels of the carriage below them ground to a halt, “but for now, let’s make an entrance, shall we?”</p><p>As if on cue with the countess’s voice, a fanfare of trumpets sounded out. The coachman pulled the door of the carriage open, and Lysithea took her mother’s arm as they stepped out into the well lit and lavishly decorated courtyard of Edgar Fortress. </p><p>“Presenting: the Countess Dahlia von Ordelia and Viscountess Lysithea von Ordelia!” boomed the hearty voice of a man. The nobles in attendance clapped jubilantly upon the presentation of the two noblewomen, and it was not long before the man himself hurried over to welcome them. “Dahlia! So good to see you, my dear! And Lysithea, my little lady! Please, both of you, be welcome in my humble abode!”</p><p>Lysithea perked to attention when her godfather approached her and was surprised to see that he had trimmed his once large and bushy beard down to something that looked reasonably respectable. Lord Aldo von Edgar was a tall, broadly-built man with a crown of gray hair. He might have seemed intimidating were it not for his kind eyes and seemingly permanent grin. By the way he could sit atop a horse or wear his armour for hours at a time without breaking a sweat, it seemed remarkable that the man was well into his sixties.</p><p>“Thank you, Aldo,” Dahlia replied coolly, offering the lord a polite nod. “My daughter and I are very happy to be here.”</p><p>Following her mother’s example, the young noblewoman nodded as well before smiling up at her godfather.</p><p>
  <em> It wasn’t good form to curtsy for her godfather anymore; the new title of Viscountess meant that she was officially his superior now… not that she would ever see the sweet old man as anything other than her godfather. Her mother may have been stretching the truth a bit on her behalf, but Lysithea was happy to see her Uncle Aldo well and in good spirits. If a night of posturing and pointless conversations meant seeing the old man smile and paying him back for his faith in her, then she could see how coming here might have been a worthwhile endeavour. </em>
</p><p>“Oh, come now, Dahlia!” the big lord chuckled, offering the countess his hand. “Heinrich and I are more than happy to have you both. Come, friends! Let’s all head into the main estate and get the festivities underway! Heinrich, my love, would you be a good man and accompany Lysithea here inside?”</p><p>“It would be my pleasure,” came Aldo’s similarly tall husband, bowing politely for the young noblewoman before offering her his hand. “Lady Lysithea, may I?”</p><p>“You may, Uncle Heinrich,” the young woman replied, taking the offered hand.</p><p>As the nobles filed into the Edgars’ estate, Lysithea mused at how happy her godfather and Heinrich always seemed to be together. Aldo could have been some lucky child’s adoptive father, but he and his husband had only built the Edgar province up to its current glory by working hard to earn the love and admiration of all of their subjects. It was likely why the two never adopted in the first place; to busy people like them, every child was worthy and choosing would be too difficult.</p><p>
  <em> There were times when having children of her own - adopted or otherwise - sounded nice to her too… Though if things tonight panned out the way she imagined they would, Lysithea would probably want to spend the last of her time as a hermit in the mountains somewhere.  </em>
</p><p>Upon reaching the ballroom, bands of musicians situated in the upstairs mezzanines played in harmony to sound out the beginning of the dance. Her godfather and his tall, bespectacled husband shared the first dance, while Lysithea danced with her mother. The young viscountess hoped that between Dahlia, Aldo, and Heinrich, she would not be expected to dance with anyone else. Unfortunately, this did not seem to be the case.</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea did not have to look hard to see that the crowd of nobles waiting for her to free up was full of gawkers and opportunists. Half of them would likely try to chat her up in the hopes of whisking her away into the night, while the other half would be doing the same thing while also trying to marry into her family through her. If she were a stupid girl swept up in the grandeur of courtly romance, she might have felt flattered. Instead, these people’s eyes made her feel like a piece of meat dangling above a pack of hungry wolves. It was as obvious as it was distasteful… and pointless.  </em>
</p><p>As soon as Lysithea had finished her first three dances for the evening, she politely bowed out and made for the refreshment tables. As predicted, a young man with a square jaw offered to pour her black currant cordial before telling her that she was the sweetest refreshment he had seen all night. A young woman with her hair up in ringlets called the nobleman a boor and took Lysithea by the arm to seemingly escort her to safety, only to try her hand in the game as well. When Lysithea managed to excuse herself and make her way across the ballroom, she was stopped by another noble who tried to engage her in a conversation she cared nothing for. Before long, the young viscountess was surrounded by attendees, clamouring and conversing around her. </p><p>
  <em> What an infuriating evening! If her Two Crests weren’t going to kill her soon, Lysithea was sure her name or title would. Just where was Lorenz? Surely he’d take great pleasure in reminding these halfwits how nobles should behave! Though if he was here, Lysithea would probably never hear the end of his incessant flirting. How bothersome! Perhaps she could set someone on fire to encourage the others to keep their distance… if only it were that simple. Even going so far as to snap at these leeches would reflect badly on her godfather. What Lysithea really needed was an excuse to find somewhere isolated to escape to and wait there until the festivities died down a bit… but where in Edgar Fortress would no one be during a ball? Oh! That was it! </em>
</p><p>Making sure that the others saw her turn her full attention to the large, gilded clock mounted above the entrance to the ballroom, Lysithea acted as well as she could to seem surprised to see the time.</p><p>“Oh my, is that what time it is now?” she asked loudly, prompting the nobles around her to stare up at the clock along with her. “I promised someone a private audience earlier, and I’m going to be late at this rate! Forgive me, everyone, but I really must be going!”</p><p>As Lysithea pulled up the skirts of her gown to make a hasty retreat from the ballroom, the lamented groans and disappointed sighs of those in the crowd behind her were as music to her ears. She knew that her godfather’s estate well enough to find her own way to the library, where she was nearly certain that no one else would be lingering around. As soon as she was far enough from the ballroom that the music was little more than a faint hum in the distance, Lysithea let go of her gown and decided to walk the rest of the way to her destination.</p><p>
  <em> At the very least, she had made an appearance at the ballroom, given those hangers-on a few moments of her time, and managed to stay in a calm enough state of mind to avoid any potential headaches. Her Uncle Aldo had a wonderful collection of periodicals that she’d happily while away the hours on. It was just a little further, and… someone had lit the fireplace? </em>
</p><p>Puzzled to see the gentle glow coming from inside the library, Lysithea crept over to the entrance to see what was going on. Inside, was a young man around her age with his nose buried in the exact book the viscountess was hoping to read herself. He was reasonably well built and passably handsome, with a head of wavy, chestnut-coloured hair, a strong chin, and a face dotted with freckles. If Lysithea was half as shallow as the young nobles in the ballroom, she might have tried to get his attention. Instead, she simply moved to walk away.</p><p>“Is someone there?” the young man asked, having evidently heard her as she started leaving. Before Lysithea could disappear down the hallway again, she realised that the young man had followed after her. “I’m sorry, you’re more than welcome to read with me, miss. If it suits you, I’ll even take my book elsewhere and leave you be in the library.”</p><p>Heaving a sigh, Lysithea turned on her heel to smile politely at him through the relative darkness. When she did, she noticed his face light up and braced herself for the worst.</p><p>“You’re the new Viscountess!” the young man stated, clearly surprised. “M-My apologies, my lady, but I did not know it was you.”</p><p>“No need for all of that,” the noblewoman replied. “I was just looking for a quiet place to wait out the evening by myself. It may sound impertinent, but I really don’t have much patience for these kinds of functions.”</p><p>“Nor do I,” he responded. “I’m not… a nobleman by birth, so I’m afraid I’m out of place during occasions like this. May I say… your reforms over the last year have been inspirational. They’ve meant a great deal to people like my mother and me!”</p><p>“Well… merely helping out was my intention,” Lysithea reacted, slightly flustered. “I wasn’t trying to earn the title of Viscountess for it, but my parents insisted once we were able to declare the territory self-sufficient. Honestly, I didn’t do much besides put the idea into action and rope my godfather into helping me enforce it with the nobility. I’m afraid my family by itself doesn’t hold as much influence in the Alliance as it did before the Hrym Rebellion.”</p><p>“Nonsense,” returned the young nobleman. “I… I heard about your first meeting at the Roundtable in Derdriu. The way the others talk of how you handled yourself there was exceptional. You restored Thyrsus to the Gloucesters and were one of the first there to voice your support for the common people. In truth, my lady… you’re a personal hero of mine.”</p><p>Lysithea was stunned by the young man’s encouragement and felt a slight tingling in her chest.</p><p>“If it isn’t unseemly, my lady, may I offer you a suggestion?” he asked.</p><p>
  <em> Whoever this person was, he was bold… and not terrible to look at either. </em>
</p><p>She nodded, and he continued, “You should align the County with the Empire like the Gloucesters have. From what I understand of the rumours, what you’ve been doing here is not so far removed from what Emperor Edelgard has in mind for Fódlan. Perhaps you could meet with her? You two did attend the Officer’s Academy together, didn’t you?”</p><p>
  <em> If it wasn’t for Claude’s plan, Lysithea might have done just that. Acheron and the Gloucesters had barred trade from upriver of her family’s territory, and regaining access to the Airmid again would give the Ordelian economy a massive boost. Also, there was the matter of Edelgard herself. Lysithea hadn’t said it to anyone other than her parents, but she enjoyed Edelgard’s company back at Garreg Mach… but how did this stranger figure any of that? Just… who was this guy? </em>
</p><p>“May I ask your name?” she inquired, intentionally avoiding giving input on his suggestions.</p><p>“Oh! My apologies!” the young man gasped, offering her a polite bow before looking up into her eyes. “Jonas von Curan, step-son to Lord Tate von Curan… at your service! My mother was a lady-in-waiting to the late-Lady von Curan before her passing, and my step-father married her and brought me into the fold shortly thereafter. Our seat is along the Airmid River, just west of yours.”</p><p>“That would explain the boldness of your suggestion,” Lysithea responded. “Jonas, I intend to do all I can to see our County peaceful and prosperous, especially for its ordinary citizens. I promise to consider your suggestion, but know that if I don’t take it, it’s only because there are some things in the Empire I am not willing to tolerate here in Ordelia territory. Are we understood?”</p><p>The nobleman’s face lit up again and it took a bit of effort for Lysithea to resist smiling along with him.</p><p>“I would expect nothing less, my lady!” he replied eagerly. “If it’s not too much to ask… may I… um, well… may I ask you for a dance this evening? Just one! I promise to let neither my eyes nor my hands wander anywhere they shouldn’t.”</p><p>
  <em> It didn’t feel fair to poor Cyril, but… what was the harm in one dance? It was just a dance after all, and she could only really call Cyril her best friend. Jonas seemed nice enough and he was also a commoner by birth. He had been a complete gentleman thus far too, and only seemed to want to dance with her because he appreciated her as a politician... Besides, her mother and her godfather had probably noticed her absence. Maybe stepping out to share one dance with someone else would be enough to appease them. </em>
</p><p>“Just one,” answered the young noblewoman, calmly offering the young man her hand to take. “And be sure that your hands and eyes stay where they belong.”</p><p>Jonas’s smile became a delighted grin as he delicately took her offered hand and walked with her down the hallway towards the ballroom. Even through the silk of her elbow-length gloves, Lysithea could feel that Jonas’s hands were far rougher than most other noblemens’. It was likely that he had done a considerable amount of menial work at the Curan estate before joining the peerage.</p><p>“So… what is your impression of the new Duke Reigan?” Jonas asked her. “I know he was also a fellow classmate of yours at Garreg Mach, but… well, I’m afraid I don’t think very highly of him. The man is undoubtedly very charismatic, but he has a low cunning and a childish air about him that gives me reason to question his readiness.”</p><p>Lysithea snorted in amusement and nodded along with what the young man from Curan had to say. “That’s a succinct impression of him. I wouldn’t say I don’t think much of Claude, but he certainly has room to grow.”</p><p>“Indeed,” sighed the nobleman. “Which at least gives him room to out-perform that snake, Margrave Edmund. A man of great avarice and ambition if ever I’ve heard of one.”</p><p>“I agree!” Lysithea beamed back. “His adopted daughter is a good friend of mine, but the Margrave himself is nothing at all like her. I’d wager that he’d marry her off at the tip of a hat if it stood to benefit him.” She paused and looked up at the young man holding her hand. “What are your impressions of the other lords of the Roundtable?”</p><p>Jonas met her gaze and smiled easily at her. “Well, you know how I feel about your family, but I think the Gloucesters are woefully misunderstood. They’ve the Weathervane in their territory to deal with, which makes their siding with the Empire all the more understandable. Were it up to me, I’d have removed Lord Acheron from Myrddin years ago and had him sweeping floors for the remainder of his days.”</p><p>Lysithea hummed in approval, prompting Jonas to continue.</p><p>“Though it goes without saying that Duke Holst and the rest of the Gonerils are nothing less than Fódlan’s greatest champions!” he sounded out proudly, as if to impress her. “Their family has kept Fódlan safe since before the Alliance even existed, and I don’t doubt that they’ll continue to defend us from those heathen brutes on the other side of the Locket for generations to come!”</p><p>Any warmth in Lysithea’s chest suddenly turned to ice. Though she knew many in Fódlan had their animosity towards the Almyrans, it was shocking to hear it coming from Jonas’s mouth. Before she could raise her voice to stop him, however, he carried on.</p><p>“Which brings me to the disgraced House Daphnel,” Jonas nearly snarled. “Can you imagine the shame the former Count brought onto his once-great family by bringing one of those devil-riding monsters into his marital bed? Ugh, the thought alone disgusts me! It’s a great shame the Galatea wing of his family took their Hero’s Relic and defected to the Kingdom after that charlatan’s marriage was announced, but I do not blame them in the slightest! Some may call the wretched spawn he left behind ‘the Hero of Daphnel’, but any true son or daughter of Fódlan knows better than to call a mongrel mutt like Judith anything less than a-”</p><p>Before the young nobleman could finish his rant, Lysithea had pulled her hand clean out of his grasp and slapped him hard across the face with it. The sound of the strike echoed down the hallways of her godfather’s estate, and when Jonas looked at her in perplexed shock, the viscountess glared as hard and as angrily at him as she possibly could. The look of confusion on the nobleman’s face quickly turned to fear when he saw the anger in her eyes, and Lysithea heard Jonas let out a terrified gasp as he sprinted back down the halls towards where she had found him.</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea needed some fresh air to clear the fire out of her belly, damned be anyone who got in her way. </em>
</p><p>Storming back into the ballroom alone, Lysithea could feel the sting of her nails digging into the palms of her hands through her gloves. A quick glare was all she needed to keep the crowds of sycophants at a distance, and the young noblewoman trudged her way around the dancefloor and out to an empty balcony. Though she heard her mother call her name, Lysithea did not stop to acknowledge her. </p><p>
  <em> No! This would pass! Lysithea could handle herself; she didn’t need her mother fussing over her now! If she could manage to push this out of her mind like she always did whenever she had too much on her plate, her point would have been made. </em>
</p><p>The chills of winter still lingered on the night air during the Great Tree Moon, and they nipped Lysithea’s cheeks and nose as she stormed out onto the balcony. Her quiet outrage threatened to blow over into a full-blown migraine if she kept it inside her for much longer, so she closed her mouth, grit her teeth, and let out a muffled scream of frustration.</p><p>
  <em> To think that she was about to dance with that… that moron! No, Jonas wasn’t just a moron; he was Fódlan itself! The whole continent was like this, and here she was at a ball... in a gown... rubbing shoulders with people who kept this stupid cycle alive and well. No matter what Lysithea and her family did in their own territory, things would never get better for outsiders living in Fódlan… not now… and certainly not in the time she had left... </em>
</p><p>“Lysithea?” she heard the tenor voice of a familiar man. “Is that you out here?”</p><p>
  <em> Was that… Lorenz? What was he doing here? </em>
</p><p>“It is,” her former classmate continued, making his way to her side and passing her a concerned glance. “As befits a nobleman of my stature, I arrived fashionably late, but… well, your mother was the first to receive me. She told me where you were and that I should speak to you. Is something the matter?”</p><p>The viscountess closed her eyes and remained silent.</p><p>
  <em> Lorenz was one of the last people she wanted to talk to now. He and Judith did not get along when she last saw them together, and it was difficult to tell whether or not he had taken it personally. When she really thought about it, though, his opinion didn’t really matter to her at all… maybe that made him the perfect person to air her grievances out to. </em>
</p><p>“Do you know the recent history of the Daphnel family?” Lysithea asked quietly. “I heard it from the adopted son of one of my family’s fife lords, and I… I hit him when he used it to slander Lady Judith. It was very childish of me, but I couldn’t control myself.”</p><p>The nobleman from Gloucester paused for a mere moment before responding. “I have… from my father. If I’m correct in my assumption about what that young heir said, then I’m afraid he and my father would get along quite well.”</p><p>Lysithea cringed and turned away from her former classmate.</p><p>“...However, I tend to disagree with him on that front,” Lorenz continued. “Though a bit old for my taste, I can’t deny that Lady Judith is a beautiful and fiery noblewoman. She is also a deft leader, likely responsible for much of Claude’s skill in governance, and a terrifying foe on the battlefield. Heavens know how badly the Imperial troops in Gloucester territory would like to get their hands on her after all of the trouble she’s put them through, and there’s no doubt that she’s earned that moniker of hers. For as fierce as Lady Judith was towards me in Derdriu, I must admit that she is rather excellent.”</p><p>
  <em> ...That was unexpected, to say the least. </em>
</p><p>As the viscountess peeked over at the still-monologuing Gloucester, she felt some of the frustration she had for him melt away. That was until…</p><p>“Though I haven’t any doubt that it has to do with her noble upbringing,” Lorenz crowed, instantly souring the mood.</p><p>“You are unbelievable, Lorenz,” Lysithea groaned, burying her face in her hands. “What do you think of other people living here of Almyran ancestry? ‘Commoners’ like Cyril, for example? Do I even want to know?”</p><p>“Oh, um… my apologies,” the nobleman said contritely. “I can’t say I’ve met many other Almyrans besides Cyril and Lady Judith, but… from what I recall of him, he was likely the hardest worker anyone at Garreg Mach had ever met… er, no offense to you, of course!”</p><p>“He is,” the young woman responded quietly. “Even now, he’s still with the Knights of Seiros, looking for Lady Rhea. There weren’t many of them left after Fhirdiad, but Catherine tells me that he broke his bow hand while standing up for an ally. He’s brave, and loyal, and…”</p><p>“You know, Lysithea: we all saw how close you two were,” Lorenz said sympathetically. “It took a while for some… like myself, as ashamed as I am to admit it… to realise that you two were truly quite the pair, regardless of your wildly different backgrounds. I see now how important friendships like that are. At the same time, you are the future of your esteemed house, Lysithea. You must know that nobles and commoners aren’t meant to-”</p><p>“Back off,” Lysithea warned angrily, her temper beginning to flare again. “Who I choose to associate with is my business and my business alone, got it?”</p><p>When Lorenz failed to respond, the viscountess turned to see the terror in his eyes. It was likely that drawing Thyrsus on him last year had left a lasting impression, and Lysithea did not want to be anyone else’s shadow in the dark. With a deep sigh, she turned her full attention to her former classmate and offered out her hand.</p><p>“Look: I’m sorry, Lorenz,” she apologised, waiting for him to take her hand and shake it. “I promise that moving forward, I will never threaten you again… but please: don’t ever give me cause to.”</p><p>Seeing her hand extended towards him in apology instead of anger this time around, the young Gloucester apprehensively took it and looked Lysithea in the eyes before giving it a firm shake. Though she imagined that a handshake from Lorenz in particular might have been a bit on the limp side, it seemed that she had misjudged him. </p><p>“I shan’t,” the young nobleman replied. “And in turn, I would like to apologise to you for the curtness I showed at the Roundtable and the insensitivity I’ve shown you tonight. You are my peer, and indeed: I’ve no right to tell you who you choose to spend your time with.”</p><p>Nodding to accept his truce, Lysithea let go of Lorenz’s hand and moved to lean up against the guardrail of the balcony. Tonight had been exhausting for her, and she wanted little more than to go home now. </p><p>“Is it too late to offer up my congratulations?” Lorenz asked genially. “On your recent appointment? When I heard news of your reforms last year, I admit that I was a bit sceptical, but the results have spoken for themselves. You really are a fine leader, Lysithea. What else do you have in store for your family’s future? I daresay that I’m eager to see-”</p><p>“My family doesn’t have a future,” Lysithea said bluntly. She was too tired now to dance around things. “My parents will be the last Count and Countess von Ordelia. After we conclude our affairs in governance here, I intend to have our claim to nobility revoked.”</p><p>“B-But that would be a terrible waste!” her former classmate protested. “You are a rising star in the nobility, and there is so much you could offer future generations. What of any children you might have?”</p><p>“I won’t be having any children,” she replied, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Even if I wanted to, I… I’m not capable of having children.”</p><p>“What do you mean you can’t?” Lorenz insisted. “How could you know that?”</p><p>
  <em> Was he really that stupid? </em>
</p><p>Lysithea opened her eyes to spare him a frustrated glance. “How does any woman know she can have children?” She paused and waited for him to get it. He did not. “Lorenz… you don’t actually need a hint, do you?” His continued ignorance caused Lysithea to groan in exasperation and practically spell it out for him, “For most other women, it happens once a month...”</p><p>It took a moment for the realisation to register on his face, but once it did, Lorenz’s eyes widened in ashamed surprise and he quickly made his way to her side again. </p><p>“Oh! I… I am so sorry, Lysithea,” he offered, likely not knowing what else to say. “If there is anything my family or I can do to help in any way, please know that we shall.”</p><p>“You can start by keeping all of this a secret,” she grumbled. “And I don’t need your apologies… not for that. The people responsible are going to pay in the near future… I’m going to make sure of it.”</p><p>“Count me in,” Lorenz said resolutely. A brief pause followed thereafter, but it was nowhere near as tense as it was before. When the young Gloucester did eventually break it, he seemed easier in speaking more freely with her. “My father sent me here, you know. He wanted me personally to make a proposal to you.”</p><p>“If it’s for marriage, you know how pointless that would be now,” Lysithea retorted. </p><p>“No. Nothing like that,” he replied. “My family aren’t the only ones impressed by what you’ve done here, Lysithea. It’s… Edelgard. She would like to offer her backing in exchange for your political support. She seems to think that your way of doing things is the future for Fódlan, and I can’t disagree with her.”</p><p>“Lorenz,” she said plainly. “Do you remember Solon and Kronya? Do you remember how upset I got when I learned of their mere existence? Years ago, after the failed rebellion in Hrym, the Empire assumed temporary control over Ordelia territory. Mages like Solon… they did things to my siblings and me. I was the only survivor, and even then... I wasn’t supposed to be like this… You’ve met both my parents... seen their hair. My hair wasn't always white, you know. I can't let those people back into our territory again... I won't.”</p><p>Lorenz gulped and was quiet for a short while before placing his hands on the rail and replying, “I can work with that. Ordelia need only reopen trade with Gloucester along the Airmid again, and offer up surplus grain to the Imperial Army from time to time. In exchange, we will treat you as an independent and isolationist player, and have you fully recognised as an Imperial trade ally. No soldier, merchant, nor even civilian coming from our territory will be allowed to cross over into yours without my explicit consent. I give you my word on that.”</p><p>Another brief silence fell between the two nobles, and Lysithea sighed again. </p><p>
  <em> What was the point in putting up an argument here? Lorenz had stayed true to his words since she last saw him at the Roundtable, and hostilities against Derdriu had been strictly economical. If he really was going to turn on Claude, he’d have done so by now.  </em>
</p><p>“All this time… I knew the Empire could force their way into Ordelia territory if they really wanted to,” the young viscountess responded. “I wanted to resist them and keep my people safe, but… until Claude’s plan takes effect, this is the best way to do it, isn’t it?”</p><p>Lorenz nodded quietly and Lysithea extended her hand out to him. She could not look him in the eye after such a concession. </p><p>
  <em> If this worked out, the Ordelias could use the Empire’s own money against them in the fighting to come. If not... </em>
</p><p>“I’ll take whatever document you brought with you and show it to both my parents when Mother and I return home,” she continued, fatigue heavy in her voice. “Please… make sure they’re not allowed in. I’m not ready to handle them just yet.”</p><p>She heard her former classmate rifle through his jacket pocket before feeling him place a scroll of parchment paper into her outstretched hand. Bringing it to her chest, Lysithea looked up at the sky for a star she knew she would not see tonight. </p><p>“Would it be in bad taste to ask you for a dance?” Lorenz asked. “You do look quite nice tonight.”</p><p>“I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you,” Lysithea responded politely as a tired but hopeful smile slowly spread across her face. “I think I know who I want my next dance partner to be, and I’m sorry to say that it isn’t you.”</p><p>“No apologies necessary, Lysithea,” the nobleman replied. “I believe I know love when I see it.”</p><p>Before Lysithea could offer up an embarrassed denial, her former classmate continued. </p><p>“I’m beginning to understand why Lady Judith was so adamant about projecting authority at the Roundtable,” Lorenz spoke. “Why she wants so badly to earn her seat back. More than anything else, I believe Lady Judith wishes to validate her parents’ love for one another. The distasteful stories about House Daphnel conveniently leave that out, but it was there. I can tell now.”</p><p>Instead of offering up a rebuttal or making an offhand remark, Lysithea merely nodded at her former classmate before staring back up at the night sky. It seemed strange that her mother would send Lorenz, of all people, out to talk to her, but this conversation ended up being exactly what she needed.</p><p>
  <em> Lorenz was onto something. Love was what drove Lysithea’s parents to leave the future of their family in her hands. It was what made her godfather and his husband such effective leaders, and was likely what compelled Judith to be the Hero of Daphnel. And Cyril… love and gratitude were the driving forces of his life. That made him a wonderful person in Lysithea’s eyes, but it also made her think... Could love be worked into policy to bring people of all backgrounds together? Who was to say? Lysithea did not have much time ahead of her, but it seemed like a good component for her next new reforms. Perhaps there was something to Claude’s scheme of a ‘new united front’ that lent itself well to Lysithea’s own plans. Could she work one more thing into her agenda before time ran out? Leaving something lasting behind for those who would outlive her was the least she could try to do for them. If Lysithea could pull all of that off... she hoped there would be time enough in the end for a dance or two. </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow, this chapter went through a lot of changes before I felt good enough to publish it!!!</p><p>It has been 3 years since Lysithea and Cyril have seen each other, and I wanted this chapter to demonstrate how Lysithea has been handling it. Obviously, the most notable things she’s been doing have been her work as a governing influence in Ordelia. Lysithea has never struck me as the type to let any time go to waste, so I wanted to use her work and accomplishments over the last year as a backdrop for how she’s been personally. While she is finding a lot of success in governance, the political and social situations in Fódlan are clearly wearing her down. While she’s very confident in herself as a politician and a mage, Lysithea hasn’t really allowed herself many chances since Garreg Mach to be her own person. These factors kind of put her in a vulnerable position when she gets to the ball, an event she knows is a political battlefield. Though she holds her own as well as she can initially, it makes sense that the wear starts to get to her and she lets her guard down around someone. This is where the character of Jonas comes into play. Like Dake from the previous chapter, Jonas has some pretty obvious shortcomings despite the fact that he’s supposedly on the “good” side. Unlike Dake, however, our chapter protagonist has a friendly rapport with him until he becomes too much. What I really want characters like these to show is that systems are responsible for prejudices just as much (if not more) than individuals are. When Lysithea recognises this after her interaction with Jonas, she feels just as repulsed by him as she does for the systems she herself is a part of. This is where I wanted to fit one of her classmates in. To me, Lorenz was the perfect character to help bridge this transitory gap, demonstrating a bit of his usual bluster while also showing some of his capacity for growth. I can’t say I was much of a Lorenz fan at all before I started writing this fic, but writing for him and his unique perspective has made me appreciate how useful he is as a narrative tool for gauging how far some of the more reformative actors in 3H can move the average person. His conversation with Lysithea at the end of this chapter not only helps her calm down enough to avoid one of her “episodes”, but gives her a bit of hope that her plans for the future might lead to some sense of systemic change. Finally, a detail I really wanted to hammer home here was the difference in ideology between Lysithea and Edelgard. Though they’re pretty aligned in Crimson Flower (probably because they’re more personally close than ideologically close), I can’t really see Edelgard’s hopes from raising Fódlan up from a feudal system to a meritocracy really appealing to someone as thoughtful as Lysithea because it means taking radical action to make very little substantive change (she explains this pretty well to her mum early in the chapter).</p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it, and maybe consider sharing it around if you feel like someone you know might enjoy it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Cyril: Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1183</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When spectres from the past stalk the shadows of the present, Cyril must reflect on the realities of his situation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were few functions of military life quite so nerve racking as reconnaissance, especially in the middle of enemy territory. Those swiftest of foot or fastest in the saddle were usually selected to group up and trek west into the Dukedom whenever a promising lead came up. Ofttimes, these leads saw the exfiltration of members of the clergy or other Church faithful, whether by passage east across the Blaiddyd River to Kingdom territory... or by the merciful release of death. On rare occasions, there were murmurs of escapees from Fhirdiad; Knights of Seiros who had managed to crawl their way out of the black dungeons the wicked Cornelia had reputedly expanded since her Imperial appointment as Duchess of East Faerghus. These murmurs were always just that: murmurs of the forlorn. Those who had managed to flee the capital during its fall knew well that it was as impenetrable as it was inescapable; the only way in or out was by the grace of those who manned its gates. Now that Cornelia controlled Fhirdiad, no such grace existed. </p><p>Yet in spite of the clear and present danger, whispers from the Rhodos Coast had brought a reconnaissance party deep into enemy territory to the ruins of the Western Church. It was not long ago that this old cathedral was once a lively place, teeming with the faithful and the open-hearted. Upon the party’s arrival, Seteth reminisced on how promising this branch of the Church seemed before its failed uprising. Catherine, however, was hardly so nostalgic; this place brought up bitter memories of her own past and the lies she was willing to defend for the sake of ‘stability’. She made these complaints quite vocal as the party searched the ruins of the abandoned cathedral, and her foul mood did little to relieve the sense of malaise that hung over this desolate place. </p><p>“So much for all of that, huh?” the Thunder Knight sighed, lifting an upturned pew to search for any signs of life beneath it. “It doesn’t look like there’s anything in the congregation, Seteth.” Dropping the pew, she looked up through an exposed section of roof and cupped her hands in front of her mouth to call out, “Cyril! Do you see anything up there in the steeple?”</p><p>Catherine’s voice echoed loudly through the ruins of the old church, and the boy winced when those echoes reached his ears. Thoughtlessly trying to stand, Cyril’s head met hard with the wooden beam above it. He clutched the place of impact as he sank to a half-squat, realising that he was now too tall to stand up straight in places like these any longer. </p><p>“Just Seteth and ya down there,” the boy called back, trying to ignore the sting radiating from the top of his head. “There’re a couple books and an old bell up here, but no sign of anyone else. Anything on your end yet, Seteth?”</p><p>Down below in the nave, the minister looked up and shook his head before moving on to another part of the cathedral. Cyril sighed and looked out at the coastline stretching off in the distance. </p><p>
  <em> There was probably a real nice clearing by the ocean to rest out there. Heck, they could’ve dug holes for themselves down below in the graveyard safer than this place. The situation here at this old church reeked of a trap, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before one of them sprung it. It figured that a lead like this would come up short; the rumours were too good to be true and there was no way Lady Rhea could have been through here any time since she disappeared.  </em>
</p><p>On the ramshackle roof beside Cyril, Saam shifted uneasily. The wyvern did not like his perch up here, but stayed for his boy’s sake. If either of them spotted anything suspicious in the forest or on the coast, the quickest way for them to get down together was to fly. When Saam seemed sure of his footing, he stretched his neck out to Cyril. The boy smiled and gave the scales under the wyvern’s right horn a hearty scratch. </p><p>“Ya like that, don’t ya, buddy?” the boy asked merrily. Though Saam could not speak back to him, the wyvern’s happy snorts and now half-lidded eye was answer enough for Cyril to know that his attention was well-received. Moments like these made the boy wish Byleth was among the living; he wanted to thank the Professor for reminding him of how much he liked caring for wyverns. </p><p>The moment, however, was not to last. Cyril soon heard a crash and then a clatter sound out from down below him. Looking down into the main hall of the cathedral, he saw that Catherine had angrily kicked a rusty helmet across the aisle she was standing in. This place had brought out a side of the Thunder Knight Cyril had seldom seen before. </p><p>“I can’t believe he died for these chumps!” she growled. “Christophe, damn it all, you were supposed to be better than this!”</p><p>
  <em> Christophe… Christophe Gaspard. Between what she had said since this mission was announced and what Ashe had mentioned of him back at Garreg Mach, Cyril had put the story together by himself. Christophe was Catherine’s best friend before she became a Knight of Seiros. They were supposedly inseparable until she found out that he was involved in a plot to kill Lady Rhea… Then she turned him in, went along with the lies the Central Church told about him to keep people from panicking, and watched him hang. Christophe and Catherine were inseparable until Lady Rhea was in danger… It was a story that made Cyril think about how he and Lysithea were also inseparable until Lady Rhea was in danger…  </em>
</p><p>Cyril did not want to believe the recent rumours he heard about the Ordelias aligning themselves with the Empire, but Shamir confirmed them when she sent spies into the Alliance to get a better understanding of the situation. When they returned to give their report, Cyril remembered Seteth sitting him aside to explain that the move was strictly political for the time being and that there was no reason to go through his mail from her just yet. </p><p><em> It was supposed to be reassuring news, but it wasn’t enough to keep the thought of living out Catherine’s story from eating away at him. If Lysithea hadn’t kept sending him her letters, he might have really thought the worst of things... </em> </p><p>“Seteth, can we get out of here already?” the Thunder Knight asked from across the ruins of the cathedral. “This place is full of ghosts, and Lady Rhea clearly isn’t here.”</p><p>“Hold a moment, Catherine,” Seteth requested. “I need to check the offices before we take our leave. Lady Rhea may not be here now, but I must know whether any documentation exists of where she was taken.”</p><p>“Just don’t drag your heels,” Catherine huffed, placing her palm on the pommel of Thunderbrand as Seteth disappeared behind a door. “We’re expected on the beach in about an hour!” Looking in Cyril’s direction again, the Thunder Knight called out, “Any sign of them from up there?”</p><p>The boy stared out into the distance and squinted, looking hard for any sign of life in the area around him. He heard the dull roar of the surf some ways away and the gentle swishing of the wind blowing through the trees in the surrounding woods. He saw the derelict roads that once brought pilgrims from all over Faerghus to this place stretching far into the horizon and the abandoned town below him, now overgrown with weeds and young saplings. What Cyril did not see nor hear, however, was any sign of the people he and his companions were supposed to meet up with. </p><p>“Not yet,” he called back. “They’re probably waiting in the forest somewhere. I’ll keep my eyes and ears out for them if I can.”</p><p>Catherine nodded and paced about the grounds of the abandoned cathedral, while Cyril kept watching. </p><p>
  <em> Those resistance guys had to be good hiders to have made it this long on the eastern side of the river. When Cyril remembered how he and his friends had spent nearly two years making their way down to Charon territory from Fhirdiad, he imagined that the resistance fighters must have been quick, quiet, and tough to make it for a whole extra year. He was sure to get hateful glares from a few of them, but Seteth stressed how important it was to get the Kingdom loyalists on the other side of the river all of the muscle they could get. It wouldn’t be nice, but it’d be worth it all in the end... </em>
</p><p>A sudden gasp snapped Cyril’s attention away from the woods and back down to the ruins of the cathedral below him. He saw Catherine put a hand on the hilt of her Hero’s Relic and dash across the room to where Seteth had gone. Before she could kick down the door, however, Seteth emerged from the other side of it with a shocked look on his face and something delicate in his hands. </p><p>Catherine froze in place at the sight of whatever Seteth was carrying, and when Cyril focused to get a better look at it from up in the steeple, the vague shape and colour of the item sent shivers down his spine. </p><p>
  <em> It was Lady Rhea’s headdress! There was no mistaking it! She had been here! It was either that or someone had put it here on purpose… </em>
</p><p>As Catherine vocalised her own disbelief at Seteth’s discovery, Cyril harshly shushed the adults in the old building below him when he picked up on the sound of someone approaching. Recognising that something was the matter, the minister and the Thunder Knight froze in place as the boy looked out to the edge of the forest and listened in. </p><p>“One horse,” he called tensely. “Four people walking near it… and chains.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound like the resistance,” Catherine said, steeling herself for whatever was approaching.</p><p>“It’s not,” Cyril replied, more quietly than he had been before. His blood felt as if it had turned to an icy slush in his veins. “I hear armour too. That’s...”</p><p>Instinct called Cyril to reach for the bow Leonie had given him last year and nock an arrow as quickly as he could. As he drew the string back to his cheek, the boy saw his worst suspicions confirmed when a destrier as dark as night stepped out from the shadows of the forest line. Atop the broad horse was a knight clad in sable black armour, his masked helmet forged into the ominous image of a horned skull. </p><p>“That’s far enough, Death Knight!” Cyril shouted as he steadied his aim. “We’ve kicked your butt before, and we’ll do it again!”</p><p>The Death Knight did not speak, only acknowledging Cyril with a brief glance before scanning the immediate area. </p><p>“That’s right!” the boy called out. “She’s hiding somewhere nearby to take your horse out from under ya again! Better ride away while you can!”</p><p>Again, the knight in black armour maintained his silence, choosing instead to look back up at Cyril before yanking the chains clutched in his gauntleted fist forward. The boy’s eyes grew wide at the sight of what stepped forth from the forest, and he had trouble now deciding where to loose his arrow. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Catherine’s voice rang out from down below as she burst into the courtyard brandishing Thunderbrand. Though the famed Thunder Knight was prepared for a fight, what the Death Knight had brought with him stopped her dead in her tracks. “What the hell have you done?!”</p><p>“You…” growled the knight in black, his deep voice a distorted echo in his helmet. “That blade… If you can still raise it after this ordeal, seek me out so I can cut you down myself.”</p><p>“Not an answer, you freak!” the Thunder Knight shouted. “What did you do to them?!”</p><p>Cyril knew without having to ask that Catherine’s question was rhetorical; these poor people had been prepared for transmutation. It was common knowledge by now that the Empire was transmuting Imperial volunteers into Demonic Beasts for the war effort, but this was an entirely new low. Neither Cyril nor anyone else fighting for the Church had seen a transmutation candidate until now, but the sight of these four was enough to turn the stomach.</p><p>Each of the hostages had been bound in heavy chains and bore hideous yet methodically carved scars on their faces that led up to ugly, swollen lumps on their foreheads. Worst of all was the looks in their eyes; they were wholly resigned to the sad fate that awaited them. Cyril had only ever seen this look in the most broken of slaves. </p><p>
  <em> These weren’t just any soldiers, either; he knew their faces. They were Knights of Seiros who had gone missing in Fhirdiad. Cyril hadn’t spent much time with any of them before things went south in the capital, but the sight of them out here like this made him furious. Catherine seemed just as angry or worse, and it probably took all she had to hold herself back from charging the Death Knight. </em>
</p><p>Before the confrontation could unfold any further, the leathery wings of Seteth’s wyvern, Tethra, echoed out in the ruins of the cathedral down below. Cyril spared a glance from the corner of his eye to see Seteth himself rise into the air, brandishing the Spear of Assal, the holy lance of Saint Cihol. The shimmering spear was on par with Hero’s Relics like Thunderbrand, and Cyril sometimes drew comparisons between Seteth and the stained glass images of Cihol whenever the minister wielded it.</p><p>“Save your words, Catherine!” commanded Seteth, his voice dripping with disdain for the enemy in their midst. “This is the work of Cornelia, is it not? Release them to us at once!”</p><p>The Death Knight lowered his collection of chains as he silently glared at Catherine and Seteth from across the courtyard. Cyril remembered how the ghoulish knight took twisted pleasure in locking blades with the Professor’s Sword of the Creator, and imagined how badly he might have wanted to test his skill against a Hero’s Relic and a Sacred Weapon both at once. </p><p>
  <em> If they could goad the Death Knight into a fight, they might be able to save the hostages and take the big creep down for good this time… After all, he seemed much more focused on Seteth and Catherine than on Cyril… Those eye holes in his helmet were small targets, but not totally impossible to hit. His friends just needed to make an opening and… </em>
</p><p>“What a shame…” the Death Knight growled. “Such prey wasted on that woman’s experiments…When the last of your kind is dead, I will kill her for stealing my sport... Here! Take back your prisoners!”</p><p>As the Death Knight tossed the chains out in front of him, Cyril’s breath hitched in terror when he saw the crimson gleam of something connecting them in the middle. A red miasma emanated from the object once it hit the ground, and the hostages soon began screaming and convulsing in response to it. The lumps on their foreheads swam around under their skin before glowing an ominous shade of purple. Cyril saw Catherine run out to try to intervene before skidding to a stop halfway there. Fleshy, black tendrils violently erupted from the mouths of each of the hostages, gagging their pained wails before quickly enveloping their bodies. The quivering, black masses rapidly expanded in size, spiralled high into the air, then doubled over to sprout appendages. By this point, both Saam and Tethra were screeching at the monstrous displays before them, and Cyril could feel his heart beating loudly in his chest. </p><p>
  <em> This was like what happened at Conand Tower, but much, much worse. Though Cyril remembered the monster Sylvain’s brother had turned into, Miklan’s transformation seemed gentle compared to this... </em>
</p><p>“Catherine! Move!” he heard Seteth scream out in panic. “Run!”</p><p>A quartet of ungodly roars filled the air as four, freshly-made Demonic Beasts burst from their casings. Unlike the ones Cyril and the others faced during the Battle of Garreg Mach, these creatures were covered in green, sinewy muscles, had red spines protruding from their backs, and bore hideous teeth that danced like piano keys inside their gaping maws. Two of them immediately descended on Catherine, while the other two galloped towards Cyril and Seteth. The boy stowed away his arrow and nearly hit his head again on the wooden beam inside the steeple as he scrambled to jump into Saam’s saddle, while the minister let out a deafening shout as he and his wyvern rushed out to engage the enemy before them. </p><p>
  <em> This wasn’t good. The odds of a three-on-four was already bad, but these were Demonic Beasts… No, they were different. The two that Catherine was fighting were able to keep up with her on foot, while the one coming at Cyril was definitely going to get him if he and Saam didn’t take off soon.  </em>
</p><p>As the Demonic Beast beared down on Cyril and his wyvern, the boy locked his feet into the stirrups of his saddle and clicked his tongue. Saam pushed off from the roof as the oncoming creature leapt into the air, and Cyril clenched his teeth as he and his wyvern narrowly avoided the swing of the beast’s massive claws, watching it hurdle into the cathedral below them. Stirring in the wreckage, the Demonic Beast leapt again to slash at the airborne pair, but Saam was flying well out of reach.</p><p>“Look who’s short now,” the boy taunted, pulling a pair of arrows from his quiver and taking careful aim. “Try these on for size!”</p><p>Cyril loosed his first arrow and watched it penetrate an ugly vein on the left side of the Demonic Beast’s face near its Creststone. The creature reeled as it tried again to slash at him, and Cyril fired his second arrow at the vein on the right side this time. The hideous creature let out a sinking scream as it crashed hard into the cathedral below them, and Cyril let out a relieved sigh. </p><p>
  <em> Demonic Beasts usually went down when the blood to their Creststones was cut off, and Cyril’s arrows had gone just where he needed them to.  </em>
</p><p>Another crash sounded out, and Cyril looked east to see Seteth leading the beast chasing him through the abandoned church town. The minister and his wyvern were an impressive team, with Tethra folding in her wings like a falcon to weave between alleyways while Seteth effortlessly guided her actions. Closer by, Cyril looked to Catherine in time to see her cut the leg off of one of the beasts attacking her. Deciding that Catherine was closer by and in greater danger, Cyril was about to have Saam fly in to aid the Thunder Knight when he heard something clawing its way up the ruins below him. </p><p>Saam veered in time to avoid the Demonic Beast as it leapt high into the air to gnash at him with its hideous teeth, while Cyril caught a brief glance at his two arrows sticking out of its forehead. As the boy watched the creature try to climb higher onto the ruins of the cathedral, he saw the flesh around the creature’s wounds slowly pushing his arrows out. </p><p>
  <em> This thing was healing itself? Demonic Beasts weren’t supposed to be able to do that! </em>
</p><p>The boy’s ears picked up on Catherine shouting frustrated profanities off in the distance as she continued to fight, and it was clear that she had come to the same realisation. As Cyril moved to draw another pair of arrows from his quiver, he saw the beast below open its mouth wide as a faint ball of embers formed in its throat. The embers soon became a great billow of flames, and when the boy fired his arrow down the monster’s gullet, it did not flinch as it spat its fireball at him. </p><p>Cyril felt the heat of the flames hot against his skin as he and his wyvern swerved mid-air to avoid the fiery projectile, and Saam let out a pained shriek. The fire had singed the tip of his right wing, and he was now fluttering wildly to try to cool it down. It was clear that arrows would do no good here, and poor Saam was paying the price for Cyril’s failure to bring the beast down.</p><p>
  <em> What the heck was he supposed to do here? He had two axes on him - one for throwing and one for striking - but he wasn’t a great warrior like Catherine or Seteth. He was quick and clever, but he didn’t have the strength and experience that his two friends did… And even then, they were struggling! Did he even have a chance here? He had to try! </em>
</p><p>Stowing his bow and reaching for his bigger axe, Cyril had Saam lure the Demonic Beast around the ruins while he tried to assess the situation. He saw Catherine slash one beast up the middle, and skilfully roll to avoid a strike from the second. On the other side of the battlefield, Seteth and Tethra were pushing off from the head of the beast they were fighting, his holy spear slicked black with blood as it was pulled free from the creature’s skull. These wounds would have brought any normal monster down, but these beasts merely held themselves together and recovered in a matter of moments. </p><p>Then there was the matter of the Death Knight. Since his hostages had transformed, Cyril noticed that the ominous rider had barely moved a muscle. He seemed to be surveying the area and watching them fight. If Cyril and his friends could find a way to bring down the Demonic Beasts, the boy knew that the Death Knight would want to engage them immediately afterwards. </p><p>
  <em> This was really bad. Maybe they could retreat to find those guys from the resistance… But that would just be leading these monsters to them too. Cyril and his friends had to bring these monsters down quick, and then they’d deal with that creep in black… somehow. </em>
</p><p>Cyril decided that he had to be clever with where he struck. The best course of action was to try to cut off one of its forelegs, then go for the other before it had a chance to heal. If he could stop it from putting itself back together, the boy believed that it would stop chasing him long enough for him to find a better way to take it down. </p><p>As the boy wheeled around to face the incoming beast, he pulled up on his reins to gain altitude and force an opening. When the monster reeled on its hind legs to try to snatch Cyril and Saam out of the air, the pair came down on it as one. The boy might not have been as strong as Catherine or Seteth, but the momentum and angle of this strike would compensate. Saam roared as he swatted past a raking claw with his talons, and Cyril yelled as he slammed the bit of his axe hard into the elbow joint of the monster’s front leg. Tepid black blood sprayed against the boy’s face, and he had to squint to keep it out of his eyes. When Saam pushed off from the ground to climb back into the air again and cleared the length of the beast’s body, Cyril looked back to see the leg he struck torn and badly broken, but not fully severed. It had not been a clean strike, and the monster's defiled flesh was already starting to rip and pull itself back together.</p><p>
  <em> Cyril’s axe was no Hero’s Relic, and he himself was no hero. He was just a kid. A kid whose bow, brains, and axe weren’t going to cut it for this fight. He was useless here, wasn’t he? </em>
</p><p>“Cyril!” he heard Seteth shout out from across the battlefield. “The Death Knight!”</p><p>The boy looked past Catherine in the courtyard to see that the Death Knight had turned around from where he was waiting and began riding off into the forest. Even the provocations of the Thunder Knight herself seemed to fall on deaf ears, and the two Demonic Beasts trying to tear her limb from limb ensured that she was in no position to give chase. The fight had not been of any interest to the Death Knight at all, and it seemed certain now that he would quench his bloodlust on the party’s unsuspecting allies.</p><p>“Cyril, find the resistance fighters and lead them away from the Death Knight!” the minister frantically commanded. “None of them stand a chance if they aren’t warned!”</p><p>“Y-Yeah, but what about you?” the boy quaked. “I can’t just leave ya here!”</p><p>“Catherine and I can manage!” Seteth demanded. “Go now! Hurry!”</p><p>Cyril gulped and nodded as he and Saam took off after the Death Knight. The boy had felt utterly helpless against the Demonic Beasts in the moments before he was sent away, and now he was positively swimming in his insecurities. </p><p>
  <em> Seteth was right… he and Catherine could handle themselves without him. They were two of the strongest warriors fighting for the Church, and their special weapons made them even stronger. If anything, Cyril was a liability back there. Then there was his current task… Those soldiers he was sent out to rescue would probably think twice before listening to anything an Almyran had to say. It would cost them time, and probably some of their lives too… And that was only if he could figure out where the Death Knight was heading! </em>
</p><p>The forests leading to the coast were lush, dark, and deep. The treetops blended together as if every tree in the woods was connected, leaving little room in the space between them to see the forest floor. The Death Knight was out of sight now, and Cyril nearly strained his eyes scanning the tiny cracks in the canopy for any sign of life he could find. For a while, it was as if he could only see in shades of green. Eventually, a distant sound pierced the air and jolted Cyril’s attention up from the forest floor. </p><p>
  <em> No… That was screaming! How far ahead of him had the Death Knight gotten? </em>
</p><p>Pushing Saam as fast as he could fly, Cyril sped towards the sound of the cries in the distance. The trees and shadows made for deceptive cover, and the ensuing silence soon made it clear that he would not make it to the source in time to save anyone. It was only after the hopelessness of his situation sank in with him that he saw the forest floor beneath the trees in a different colour. </p><p>Below him, the ground had been stained red with blood and littered with the bodies of the recently deceased. Cyril grimaced when he saw the soldiers’ terrified expressions frozen onto their faces in death, with many still clutching their weapons and others strewn in pieces across the ground. Not even the horses were spared; a few of them had even been cleanly decapitated through their armour. The sight was so terrible to behold that when Saam refused to land in a nearby clearing, the boy initially thought his wyvern did not want to disrespect the dead. </p><p>
  <em> That wasn’t the truth, though… He was there on his horse, letting it all sink in… What the heck was this guy’s deal? </em>
</p><p>With his war scythe laying across his lap and his helmet tucked under his arm, the Death Knight basked peacefully in his saddle amidst the carnage he had sewn. From where Cyril was positioned, he could see that the only part of the knight’s person that had not been spattered with the blood of the resistance fighters was his now-exposed head. The man’s long, ash blond hair had been tied into a neat ponytail, and the back of his neck was so pale that it seemed to radiate light when contrasted with the blackness of his armour. When Cyril readied his bow, the Death Knight did not turn to look up at him. </p><p>
  <em> It seemed like suicide to even try, but Cyril had to salvage something from this disaster of a day. Maybe he’d be the one to bring the Death Knight down… At the very least, he could try... </em>
</p><p>“Professor Jeritza!” the boy shouted out, angrily drawing back his arrow as Saam hovered above the treetops. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”</p><p>“Oh… you,” the Death Knight sighed, ignoring Cyril’s command to express his dissatisfaction. “Your friend was not there… Your lie bored me, and so I came here.”</p><p>“Shut up! Don’t you talk about her!” Cyril snarled back, his bow now shaking in his hands. “I’m a pretty good shot from a distance, but I’m even better up close like this. I can put an arrow through the back of your head and out through your mouth right now, and there’s nothing you’d be able to do about it!”</p><p>“Do it, then,” replied the frightful soldier. “Do it or leave me be…”</p><p>“No! You’re my prisoner now! Drop your weapons and get off your horse!” demanded the boy. </p><p>The Death Knight did not reply at first, instead slowly lifting his helmet to place it back on his head.</p><p>
  <em> The second that helmet went on, Cyril was sure he’d be cut to ribbons. He couldn’t let either of those things happen... </em>
</p><p>“Last warning!” Cyril barked, ready to let fly. </p><p>When the Death Knight did not listen and continued to lift the helmet, the boy grit his teeth and loosed his arrow. A snap rang out as the bowstring slapped hard against the wood of Cyril’s bow, but the arrow he fired did not reply with the sound of any kind of impact. Instead, there came another snap. This time it was not the snap of hempen fibres meeting lacquered oak; it was the snap of metal plates clapping against slender elm.</p><p>
  <em> He just leaned to the side and caught it?! With his back turned?! That wasn’t right! Nobody was that fast! </em>
</p><p>Tossing the arrow into the dirt, the Death Knight casually donned his helmet and turned to stare up at Cyril. His armour, his scythe, and even his horse were so caked in dried blood now that they shimmered scarlet in the dappled sunlight, and a piercing glow of malice shone out from the eye holes of his masked helmet.</p><p>“Foolish...” the Death Knight at last responded. “You came here alone. Neither the wielder of Thunderbrand nor the Nabatean are here with you now… Do you wish to die?”</p><p>“What the heck is a Nabatean?” Cyril asked sharply, drawing a pair of arrows from his quiver. “It doesn’t matter! I’ve seen ya fall plenty before, and I betcha can’t catch two at once! I’m not scared of ya!”</p><p>“Then why do you tremble?” retorted the knight. “I could swat you down from up there as easily as I killed the flies around me here, but I found little pleasure in putting them to the blade. They were to be my entertainment for the day, but they offered so little resistance. They did not last long enough for me to savour their deaths, and still I thirst…” </p><p>Cyril’s bow was now shaking in his hand like a loose twig on a dead branch.</p><p>“I should kill you for what you’ve seen today,” the Death Knight continued, “but Faerghus has not been what I was promised. If the Prince is alive, he has been kept out of my reach. His soldiers cower behind the river of his ancestors, his grand armies are scattered, and that woman has stolen the thrill of my harvest here from me. Even the one who wielded the Goddess’s blade is gone… My blood boils for a fight with no certain victors, and you and your allies are spent. When the flames of this war burn away the weak and only the strong remain, will I finally have my sport? Will you and your friend be there at your full strengths again? Will you be the ones to give me the battle I crave? Or must I hunt you down and kill you separately? Neither of you are hard to find...”</p><p>The Death Knight did not have to raise his scythe to leave Cyril completely disarmed. In spite of his supposed advantage, the boy was powerless here. He had been since the beginning. If Cyril fired again, he knew the former professor would react in time to avoid his shots and make good on his threat. That would mean his life and Lysithea’s as well. </p><p>
  <em> Jeritza… the Death Knight… whoever he was… this guy was born for war. Compared to someone like that, Cyril really wasn’t much better than a bug. This was as close to a dismissal as anyone likely got from this monster of a man, and Cyril was now sure he’d die if he didn’t heed it. </em>
</p><p>“You’ll get your fight if I ever see her again,” the boy said tensely, lowering his bow and slowly storing his arrows back in his quiver. “Though it isn’t gonna end well for ya.”</p><p>“Good... Make it worth my while,” responded the Death Knight, his chilling voice echoing inside his helmet. “When my blade bites into your flesh and ends your life, pray that I take enjoyment in the act. Now go… go gather your allies together and prepare my feast before I decide that you won’t be seeing any of your friends again...”</p><p>Cyril did not dare to blink as he slowly reached for his reins. If he made a sudden movement or looked at the Death Knight wrong, he was sure that he would be killed on the spot. Though the boy was frightened for his life and riddled with guilt over his failure to save the resistance fighters, he recognised that so many others were still counting on him. </p><p>
  <em> Cyril liked the conversations he had with Catherine about what they’d do to celebrate once Lady Rhea was freed, and he liked to think that those chats helped her keep going too. And for as stern and obsessed with discipline as Seteth could be, he thought almost as highly of him as he did of Lady Rhea; after all, he had saved Cyril from the Locket too. Both of them were counting on Cyril and Saam to get back and tell them the news of what just happened.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There were other people in the Knights’ company who relied on him too. Flayn liked talking with him to get her frustrations with her overprotective brother off her chest, and she needed someone around her age to relate to. Hanneman and Manuela could fight for hours if he wasn’t there to break them up, and he had done it so often that a lot of the other Knights came to find him first when those two were at it. And Alois... his wife and daughter had been stranded in the Empire. Cyril wasn’t much of a talker, but he could tell that the chats he had with Alois helped the big goof cope with how much he missed them. And then there was Shamir, who hadn’t let him out of her sight since the incident with Dake. For someone so reserved, Shamir sure could be protective. She’d even made him sleep in the tent she and Catherine shared when the Knights had to work with outsiders loyal to the Kingdom. Of all the people Cyril travelled with since Lady Rhea went missing, Shamir would be the most upset to see him go… though she probably wouldn’t show it very well. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Finally… there was Lysithea. She hadn’t stopped writing to him since Leonie came to the rescue last year. Even now, he had the little stack of letters she sent him tucked away in Saam’s saddlebag. When Fhirdiad fell, Cyril had lost the card she had made to help him learn his alphabet while they were apart, and he was too ashamed to ask for another. It was the first thing she had sent to him, and the most important. Without it, all of the words she wrote out for him were just pretty scribbles on paper. He wanted to be able to read them someday, and there was only one person in the world he wanted to teach him. It didn’t take a genius or even a reader to know that she’d miss him too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When Cyril really thought about it… he had a lot to live for and he was pretty lucky. Lady Rhea had given him a place in the world with people who cared about him, even if he didn’t fully belong here. Jeritza didn’t have anyone like that in his life, did he? Like Dimitri, he probably let his hatred and his bloodlust rot away his heart and mind until he became something less than human. A monster without a Creststone... </em>
</p><p>“What happened to ya, Professor Jeritza?” Cyril asked pensively. “You’re totally alone in this crazy world, aren’tcha?”</p><p>The Death Knight responded only by gripping his scythe so hard that the metal of his gauntlets let out a hideous screech as they scraped against the shaft of his foreboding weapon.</p><p>“Leave,” demanded the knight. “Leave now or I will add another carcass to this heap.”</p><p>Now gripping his reins firmly in hand, Cyril gave the Death Knight one final look before he and Saam took off. As the caws of crows faded in the distance, his heart rate slowed down and the ruins of the Western Church grew larger on the horizon. By this point in time, nearly every bit of the boy’s body felt terribly heavy. </p><p>
  <em> Dumb luck. Dumb luck and knowing Lysithea were the only reasons he was allowed to leave that horrible place just now… but it couldn’t last. Lysithea wasn’t here and dumb luck alone could only keep him alive for so much longer. Based on today, he could tell that the war here in Fódlan was only going to get worse... and he and his friends were on the losing side.  </em>
</p><p>The coolness of the morning air dissipated and the afternoon sun shone through warm. Though the battle at the cathedral and the conversation with the Death Knight had taken mere moments, the boy was beginning to realise how long he had been flying. The way back seemed much longer than the way here did, and he was getting tired. On the treetops beneath him, he saw the shadow of his wyvern dance lazily, and the sight of it nearly lulled him to sleep. It was only the gnawing guilt of his failure and the encroaching dread of his current situation that kept him from nodding off and allowing Saam to fly them both back to safety.</p><p>
  <em> What would he say to Seteth and Catherine? Were they all right? What could he say? </em>
</p><p>Soon, the towering ruins of the cathedral poked out from the seemingly endless horizon of trees. The boy put together his report for Seteth, reciting it a few times out loud to be sure he did not leave anything out. When he caught sight of smoke rising into the air and Tethra napping in the courtyard, Cyril felt his stomach tying itself into knots.</p><p>“Cyril!” Catherine called out, waving to the boy from atop the remains of a Demonic Beast she had felled. “You missed one hell of a fight!”</p><p>Cyril did not have the heart to wave back to the Thunder Knight, and merely landed beside her. Hopping down from his saddle, the boy gave the woman a penitent look, sure that she would resent him for his failure. Instead, she leapt down from the slain beast, scooped him up in both arms, and pulled him off of his feet.</p><p>“I was <em> this </em>close to pounding the stuffing out of Seteth for sending you out there alone,” she said, giving the boy a squeeze as she heaved a heavy sigh. “Just imagine what Shamir would’ve done if you hadn’t come back with us!”</p><p>“I’m all right, Catherine… but you’re kinda crushing me!” the boy struggled to say before the knight let him out of her grasp. “Look, guys… about those people from the resistance…”</p><p>“They were doomed from the moment the Death Knight took off,” Seteth insisted, approaching Cyril and Catherine with his brows knit and his gaze turned towards the ground. “We have been fighting a losing war for some while now, and I was desperate for any kind of victory we could get. I should not have sent you out there.”</p><p>“Wait, you’re not mad?” Cyril asked incredulously. “Seteth, you trusted me and I let ya down!”</p><p>“No, I’m afraid I was the one to let you down,” the man asserted, looking up from the ground to meet the boy’s gaze. “Even at our strongest, when we held Garreg Mach and Lady Rhea was still among us, the Death Knight was able to penetrate our defences and kidnap Flayn. He is an enemy beyond our ken for the moment, and yet I still sent you after him alone. I hope you may one day forgive me for that.”</p><p>“Seteth, you’re not the one who needs to apologise,” the boy insisted, gulping as he steeled his nerves to assert his point. “I didn’t go because ya told me to; I went because your order made sense to me. If Saam and I are anything at all, it’s fast. We’re faster than you and Tethra, and we’re probably even faster than Catherine.”</p><p>“Hmph, I hope that’s not a challenge,” the Thunder Knight bluffed, the huge grin on her face betraying any confidence behind her bluster. </p><p>“Whatever ya say, Catherine,” Cyril said plainly, channeling an iota of his mentor’s indifference towards the jape. “Still, after everything I’ve been through on my own and with ya guys, I don’t think I could follow an order that didn’t make sense to me. Just like you knew I had the best chance of reaching those resistance guys and getting away from the Death Knight, I knew you guys had these monsters under control. Sending Saam and me out was the right call.”</p><p>“There is that incredible potential of yours shining through again,” Seteth sighed, smiling as he shook his head. “Whether you’d care to acknowledge it or not, Cyril, you are coming into your own as quite the astute young man.”</p><p>
  <em> Young man? Cyril wasn’t sure about that at all; he had only ever thought of himself as a boy. A kid. He wasn’t particularly strong or tall, and he didn’t need to shave his face all that often. Heck, Catherine sometimes teased him that he still looked younger than Flayn, and she hadn’t seemed to age at all since he first met her! </em>
</p><p>“Oh how they grow,” Catherine chuckled, folding her arms beneath her breastplate. “Though let’s get back to the debriefing, shall we? You said that the Death Knight managed to reach the resistance fighters before you did, right? What exactly happened out there, Cyril?”</p><p>“Professor Jeritza, that’s what,” the boy responded. “That guy is real fast and even more dangerous. By the time I got to him, he had already killed them all. I even shot at him, and he caught my arrow!”</p><p>“Jeritza?” Seteth asked, astonished. “We had our suspicions, but you’re quite sure it was him?”</p><p>“Yeah,” answered Cyril. “He wasn’t wearing his helmet when I got there, and he looked like he was trying real hard to find some meaning in what he did. He said that killing all of those people wasn’t enough for him, and he only let me go because he said he wanted to bring me and Lysithea down at the same time. I’m not sure he’s gonna come after the Knights again until he’s sure we can give him a real fight.”</p><p>“Ugh, I can’t tell whether to feel grateful or insulted,” Catherine growled. “Though I was seeing red the whole time we were fighting those Demonic Beasts he brought with him. If he had come back, I would have been drained from one fight and at a serious disadvantage for the next… I’m sure Seteth here wouldn’t have fared much better, isn’t that right?”</p><p>The minister responded only with a dismissive hum, rubbing his beard as he pondered what Cyril had to say. </p><p>“If the Death Knight does not plan to head east to route the Knights of Seiros out of Charon territory, then he will likely be heading north to press into Lord Rodrigue’s territory,” Seteth said grimly. “And if Cornelia still has prisoners in Fhirdiad, she will doubtless be supplying him with more of those new Demonic Beasts. The ones we faced today hadn’t any battle armour like the ones at Garreg Mach did, and I doubt that will henceforth be the case. Between them and the Death Knight, I fear Faerghus may not have much longer.”</p><p>“Ugh, you can’t be serious,” groaned Catherine, shifting uneasily on her feet. “Does this mean I’ll be showing my family what it’s been like to live on the run for all these years?”</p><p>“It isn’t gonna come to that!” Cyril insisted. “We’ll figure something out, right, Seteth?”</p><p>“Hm, it is difficult to say,” the minister sighed. “Lord Rodrigue will not go down easily, and his forces are the strongest in the Kingdom bar none. With support from the nearby houses of Gautier and Galatea, the Shield of Faerghus may be able to hold the line for a year or so. After that, our only hope for rescuing Fódlan will lie with the Alliance...” He paused and folded his arms at his chest. “Cyril, do you still have that first letter Lysithea sent you?” </p><p>The boy nodded and made his way back to Saam to fish it out of his saddlebag. Once he handed it over to Seteth, the minister read through it quickly before finding the information he was after.</p><p>“There!” the man continued. “A day of renewed hope where she intends to see you in person again. Flayn tells me that Claude held you, her, and all of the Golden Deer students to an oath. In two years’ time, you are to reunite at Garreg Mach for the Millennium Festival. Do you believe this reunion was what Lysithea was talking about?”</p><p>
  <em> The Millennium Festival… that was right! Claude made them all promise to return in five years! </em>
</p><p>“I think so,” Cyril replied. “The Professor’s gone, but that just gives everyone else some extra motivation to meet up there to remember. If enough people show, it’ll be the perfect chance to rope them all together to take Garreg Mach back. That’s gotta mean that whatever Lysithea and Claude are planning is supposed to happen during the Millennium Festival.”</p><p>“That might explain the need to stall,” Seteth responded. “Your reunion is likely the first gathering of many. I believe Claude may be trying to rally a second united front, and capturing Garreg Mach will give him the ideal place for Fódlan’s downtrodden to gather together for a final stand against the Empire.”</p><p>“Sounds like we finally have a plan,” Catherine hummed contentedly, pacing as she palmed the hilt of her relic sword. “First, we head back to the Kingdom side of the river and send word to every major house still loyal to the crown that they need to hold fast for two more years. Next, we gather up as many Church faithful as we can to replenish our numbers by spreading word that the Empire is using heresy and torture to bolster their forces. Then, when Claude, your girlfriend, and all of your other little classmates go back for their reunion, we sweep in and make that united front finally happen!”</p><p>“She’s not my girlfriend!” Cyril protested, eliciting an unconvinced smirk from the Thunder Knight.</p><p>Seteth shot Catherine an unamused glare before nodding in agreement, “Tactlessly put, but that does seem to be our only recourse. For now, the sun is high and we should be off soon. Heavens only know what lurks here when darkness falls on these desolate grounds, and I would prefer not to be around to find out.”</p><p>“While I’m as ready as anyone to leave this damn place, I think we can afford a moment to bury our dead before we do,” Catherine sighed, looking out mournfully at the dissipating carcasses of the four beasts she and Seteth had slain. Their real bodies would be exposed to the elements soon, and the Thunder Knight clearly did not enjoy the thought of it. “They deserved better… and these are holy grounds, aren’t they? With the Western Church gone, I’m sure none of them would complain about being put to rest here.”</p><p>“Agreed,” the minister replied. “It would be wrong of us to leave them behind a second time.”</p><p>
  <em> The resistance fighters wouldn’t be getting burials… Not everyone who died in war did. Cyril learned this lesson well when he fought with the Almyrans, and he relearned it over and over again here in Fódlan over the last three years. At least he’d be burying people who didn’t mind him all that much... </em>
</p><p>Cyril eventually concurred with a nod, and the three continued to talk amongst themselves as they prepared graves for the four fallen knights. Seteth expressed his desire to see this sad place restored once the fighting had ended, and Catherine mused at how gutsy Cyril was in his attempt to detain the Death Knight singlehandedly. When their work was done and the minister had given the dead their final rites, Catherine asked Cyril to take Lady Rhea’s headdress for safe keeping while she rode with Seteth. The boy accepted and looked deep into the ornate crown the Archbishop once wore, seeing his reflection in gold.</p><p>
  <em> He hadn’t taken the time to notice it before, but his face had gotten a little longer since his days of sweeping up at the monastery. His jawline had also dropped a bit, and his shoulders had gotten broader too. Maybe Seteth was right; maybe he was growing up. What kind of man would he be, though? What kind of man would he want to be? Lady Rhea had given him the freedom to decide that for himself, but people like Seteth, Catherine, and Shamir were the ones to help guide him to that decision. He might’ve been growing up during another lousy war, but he had people who cared about him here this time. Would Lady Rhea have been proud of how he turned out? He wasn’t sure; she was always such a mystery. The world was so full of pain and anger, mysteries and monsters... And thinking about even just a few of them made Cyril miss how simple everything seemed when the worst of his worries were making out scribbles on a piece of paper. Somewhere out there, Lysithea was growing up too, wasn’t she? Would she be proud of how he turned out? In two years’ time, maybe he’d get to see for himself… </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So... I think I rewrote this chapter every day for almost a week before it felt good enough to send over to hardkourparcore... Phew...</p><p>This chapter finally climbs over the hump of Three Houses' five-year timeskip, doing so by exploring the theme of growth under stress. Cyril has been through a lot up until this point, and it's difficult to imagine a kid growing up through these kinds of conditions. At this point in the story, Cyril has just turned 18 and he's already fought in two different wars, and a bunch of smaller conflicts leading up to the most recent one. While he approaches conflict in this chapter as coolly as anyone possibly could, he doesn't really process that he isn't a kid anymore. It's sad, but he's essentially been raised on the battlefield and he's had to grow up far faster than he deserved to (something he and Lysithea have in common, and will probably talk about when they get the chance). He's also developing his own sense of agency and autonomy, which is something that he has tried to bury in the past, but is quickly becoming something he must embrace if he wants to make it through this war alive. This chapter also brings back some pretty important players as tensions begin to rise. Notably, we get to meet the Death Knight (DK for short) for the first time in the fic. Writing for DK was admittedly pretty fun, and I wanted to convey him as someone our heroes really aren't equipped to deal with, especially without Lysithea's special brand of anti-cavalry magic. We also get to spend some time with Catherine and Seteth. I think there's a really interesting parallel to explore between Catherine's past and Cyril's present, and this mission is the perfect place to introduce it, while also allowing Catherine to put some of her own personal demons behind her. Cyril's interactions with Seteth have been something I’ve been dying to explore for a while now, and this chapter was the ideal place to begin fleshing it out. </p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it, and maybe consider sharing it around if you feel like someone you know might enjoy it! It seriously means a lot to me to see this project grow in the community!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Lysithea: Red Wolf Moon, Imperial Moon 1184</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the midst of a celebration, Lysithea feels the strain of time slipping away from her.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The icy chill of winds from the north were the surest sign that winter was quickly descending upon the Alliance. The morning dew that ordinarily dotted clovers and leaves froze over into hoarfrost, and crystallised patterns of ice formed on every window that had yet to be kissed by the warmth of the rising sun. By the month’s end, the first snows would arrive to blanket nearly all of Leicester in a dizzying flurry of white. In years past, citizens of the Alliance scrambled to make ready for the coming cold in the months leading up to the Red Wolf Moon. Commoners regularly had to get through the winter on what they could hunt or harvest in the autumn, and merchants drove up the price of their wares to take advantage of the increased demand for goods. In present day Ordelia, however, the traditional clamour for food and other essentials had given way to a different kind of commotion. </p><p>The Athirne Winter Festival was the first of its kind since war broke out in Fódlan nearly four years ago. The tunes of numerous bards sounded out all at once through the chilly air as residents from all over Ordelia roamed the streets of the county’s largest city. Merchants sold hot drinks, warm snacks, colourful trinkets, and any number of other things from their stalls and carts to the surge of eager patrons who had come to enjoy the festivities. Were it not for the presence of Lord Edgar’s soldiers all around Athirne, one might have forgotten there was even a war being fought in the first place.</p><p>“Bard!” the gruff and boisterous voice of a jolly lord sounded out from amidst the sea of voices in the crowd, his breath turning to steam as he spoke. “Bard! Come here a moment, would you? I’ve a special request for you and your lovely young singer!”</p><p>When the musician turned in the direction of the lord and his companions, his eyes went wide and he quickly made his way over. </p><p>“O-Of course, Baron von Edgar!” the bard stammered, trying hard to simply seem cold and not overly excited. “My daughter and I will do our very best!”</p><p>“Splendid!” Aldo replied, handing the bard a scroll of parchment paper. “I trust you can read sheet music, yes? If not, I’d be glad to sing it for you myself!”</p><p>“Please tell us you can read sheet music,” the clean-shaven and slightly younger man standing beside Aldo requested politely. “My lord husband is a man of many talents, but singing is certainly not one of them. Aldo, I’m afraid you’re utterly tone deaf.”</p><p>“Hahaha! Quite right you are, Heinrich, my love!” laughed the bearded baron. “I’m afraid I would do this song and its magnificent writer no justice whatsoever.”</p><p>“I-I’m sure that isn’t true, milord,” the bard chuckled nervously. “But I can read the notes and teach my daughter the tune! Would milords and milady give us a half hour to practice before we perform?”</p><p>“Certainly, my good man!” Aldo obliged jovially, pressing a pair of gold coins into the bard’s hand. “What may I call you?”</p><p>“Oh! Er, anything you’d like, milord!” the stunned musician stammered. “Though I’m known as Stef the Strummer, and my daughter’s name is Rosy.”</p><p>“Ah, Stef! A fine name for a fine man! I shall see you and sweet Rosy in half an hour!” the old lord replied, giving the bard a hearty pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. “Lysithea, dear, I believe you will enjoy this very much!”</p><p>
  <em> By the look on Stef’s face, this was more money than he had ever been paid for a single song. If he knew that Aldo was going to give him another two when he and Rosy were finished performing, they might have offered to perform an entire libretto for him. </em>
</p><p>“Thank you, Uncle Aldo,” the young viscountess replied with a nervous chuckle as she walked back into the streets with her godfather, his husband, and their entourage. “Though you really should be more mindful of your coin. What you just paid him is worth about a day’s labour for most people.”</p><p>“Oh bother!” her godfather grumbled. “I have a feeling you and Heinrich are cut from the same bolt of cloth. If I had all the gold on me converted to silver marks, I could melt them all down and fashion myself a new suit of armour.”</p><p>“Exactly why Lysithea wants you to mind your money, darling,” Heinrich groaned. “We’re here to mingle with the citizenry and enjoy ourselves; not give every thief in Leicester an invitation to try to snatch your purse.”</p><p>“Bah, if nobles spread their wealth around as freely as I do, people wouldn’t resort to thievery!” the old baron retorted. “Nearly every single coin I’ve spent today has gone directly into the pockets of hardworking cooks, serving folk, and - yes - musicians. The whole point of this festival was to relieve the gloom of that ghastly war going on in the north by spreading some wealth and cheer to the citizenry. Lysithea will back me up on this, won’t she?”</p><p>“Oh no I won’t, Uncle,” the young woman replied pointedly. “No one here is doubting your intentions; just your approach. I know you’re trying to set an example for other nobles to follow, but they won’t part with their money as easily as you do. Policy has to lift the people up; not the generosity of individual nobles. If you’re going to put your money into improving the lives of ordinary people, do it on a level other nobles can’t ignore. In ways we can make law… as in a guaranteed income for all citizens or perhaps a negative income tax… something along those lines! Whatever we decide on, the change we make has to work for everyone. This festival was a good idea, Uncle, but I think we could do even more to promote the public good. We have to be responsible with how we allocate our money to do that, and it’s clear to me that you’ve muddled the line between generosity and recklessness.”</p><p>Though her godfather did not respond at first, a smile broke across his face and he was soon bellowing with hearty laughter.</p><p>“Haha! Yes! Excellently put!” Aldo roared merrily, seemingly glad to be on the receiving end of Lysithea’s sharp tongue. “By the Goddess, I’ve not been schooled on policy like that since the day of your parents’ wedding! You see, Heinrich: this is exactly why I’ve such high hopes for the newer generation! They think with their minds AND their hearts!”</p><p>“Exactly why you married me,” sighed Heinrich with a cheeky smile. “Perceptiveness only ever got you so far, Aldo. You know, Lysithea: your godfather may be the one with the charisma and lofty ideas, but I’m the one who somehow has to make them all happen. Aldo is the heart to my mind. It’s been that way since our days at the Officer’s Academy, hasn’t it?”</p><p>“Indeed it has, my love,” answered the bearded lord fondly, as he happily linked arms with his husband and goddaughter. “Lysithea, if you ever find yourself someone who complements you as well as Heinrich does for me, marry them. A good marriage should be a partnership built on love, respect, friendship, and a healthy degree of variety. I may not be as mindful as Heinrich on the finer details, but we see eye-to-eye more oft than not and work well off each others’ strengths. Having a meticulous plan in mind is all well and good, but sometimes it’s best to let your heart do the steering.”</p><p>“I shan’t argue with you there,” the cleanly-shaven lord responded warmly. “We have made a good team over the years, haven’t we? Whoever said that opposites attract has clearly never met their perfect complement.”</p><p>
  <em> This all was beginning to hit a little too close to home for Lysithea’s liking. She hadn’t told either of them much about her Academy crush, but her mother was a terrible gossip. Whatever… this was, it had to end.  </em>
</p><p>“How in the world did you two manage to take a scolding and turn it around to lecture me on romance?” she groaned as she continued to walk. “If this is your way of suggesting anything to me, I’ll thank you both to stop.”</p><p>Heinrich passed Lysithea a knowing look and opened his mouth to speak, but Aldo saved him from the bite of another scolding by cutting him off.</p><p>“My word! Do you two smell that?” the old baron asked, clearing his throat and directing Lysithea’s attention towards a vendor selling dessert waffles. “Lysithea, may I treat you to a sumptuous waffle, hot off the press?”</p><p>
  <em> It shouldn’t have been this easy for her Uncle Aldo to bribe her... </em>
</p><p>The viscountess narrowed her eyes at the two older gentlemen and nodded slightly.</p><p>“You may,” Lysithea replied coldly. “Though you won’t be paying for a single waffle with a gold mark.”</p><p>Lysithea heard her godfather gulp before letting out a slightly nervous chuckle.</p><p>“Then I shall have to buy however many my mark will get me!” Aldo laughed, turning to the entourage of knights and mages that accompanied him and Heinrich into town. “Consider it the first step towards guaranteed income in the form of waffles! My treat, each of you!”</p><p>Rolling her eyes and sighing defeatedly, Lysithea allowed her godfather to indulge her, his husband, his personal guard, and a crowd of cheering children who were lucky enough to have been nearby to hot waffles slathered in melted Adrestian chocolate. Whether she cared to admit it or not, the patronage from today’s festivities would see the people of Athirne comfortably into the winter. That much was enough to be thankful for.</p><p>
  <em> And there was certainly nothing wrong with chocolate!  </em>
</p><p>Happily biting into her waffle, Lysithea gleefully teared up at the taste of real chocolate. In Fódlan, every bit of the stuff was grown in Brigid and crafted exclusively by chocolatiers in the Empire. With the former nation in open rebellion and the latter halting all exports to Ordelia until only recently, Lysithea had not tasted chocolate since the onset of the war.</p><p>
  <em> This was better than good! How could she have gone four years without it? Oh, it was a crime that she and the rest of the Alliance had resorted to eating carob instead! </em>
</p><p>With a group of happy children now in tow, Lysithea and her godparents made their way back to the center of town where Stef and Rosy had finished preparing Aldo’s song. The presence of the nobles among the common folk quickly drew an even larger crowd, and Lysithea could see by the look on Stef’s face that he was not used to performing for so many people at once. All the same, the viscountess recognised him as a man of his trade when he plucked up the courage to greet the crowd and introduce his patron before giving his lute a strum. Rosy hardly seemed so shy as her father had been, clapping in tune with Stef’s playing as she began to sing.</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea’s godfather might not have been a singer, but he had a good ear for talent. Rosy’s voice was sweet and melodic, and her joyful clapping gave her father’s rhythmic plucking and strumming a heartbeat. These two had probably been performing together since she was a little girl. What really stuck out to Lysithea, though, was the song her Uncle Aldo had commissioned them to sing. Though she believed she hadn’t heard it before, it was undeniably familiar. The lyrics were obviously a playful take on Aldo and Heinrich, comparing the two to a bear and a raven respectively, but the rhythm and meter… Lysithea wasn’t quite sure what to make of them. They were too sophisticated to have been put together by any ordinary bard, but too playful and folksy to appeal to most nobles. And the grace notes peppered into the melody were like little signatures that Lysithea was able to recognise somehow. Where had she heard this music before? </em>
</p><p>The happy song ended triumphantly, with Rosy drawing a high note out while Stef played it out with a flourish of chords. The crowd - many of whom had been dancing, tapping their feet, or hopping in place - erupted into a roar of cheers, and Lysithea suddenly found herself smiling and cheering along with them. As she came to expect from her recklessly generous godfather, Aldo was among the first to approach the bard and singer, dropping a pair of gold marks into their tip bowl and laughing merrily.</p><p>“Thank you for your kind patronage, milord!” Stef gasped, clearly overwhelmed by the reception of his audience. “May I ask you for the rights to perform it again for others?”</p><p>“I would be insulted if you didn’t,” Aldo replied. “Pass it around to as many others as you can, and keep it alive in the musical community for me, won’t you?”</p><p>“Sure as sunshine, milord!” the bard agreed, bowing gratefully before the jolly baron. “May I ask also who the troubadour responsible for it is? Surely, they’re quite popular!”</p><p>The old lord nodded and leaned in to whisper into Stef’s ear, and the bard immediately looked to Lysithea before removing his hat and offering her a very polite bow. Confused but not wanting to seem rude, the viscountess curtsied back and smiled.</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea had never written a song before. She usually only sang when she was alone. What exactly had her Uncle Aldo told Stef? </em>
</p><p>As the young noblewoman and her godparents left the town square together, she was deep in thought, mulling over what exactly had transpired at the festival. </p><p>
  <em> Love, chocolate, and music. It was a good recipe for a nice day out, but she couldn’t help but think that she was wrong to have enjoyed herself today. She and her parents had called Aldo and Heinrich to Athirne to discuss something difficult with them, but Aldo had somehow sensed this and decided to cushion the blow with a street festival to celebrate his thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. It was all very nice, but… it seemed wrong. All of it did. While she was chatting and dancing and snacking, her friends in the Kingdom were struggling hard against the very Empire her chocolate had come from. </em>
</p><p>“Hm, it seems our little lady here could use a distraction from the distractions,” Aldo hummed, looking to Heinrich. “I’ll leave you to mind the city in my stead, my love. The festival and past week of planning has been a marvelous diversion, but I should walk Lysithea home to her parents now, so we can get our real business here over and done with. I fear we’ve appropriated too much of their time as it stands.”</p><p>Before Lysithea could protest and ask the Edgars to continue enjoying the festival, she saw that the two men seemed to already be in firm agreement.</p><p>“Of course, Aldo dearest,” Heinrich replied, pecking his husband chastely on the lips before acknowledging Lysithea with a kind smile. “Go easy on him for me, would you? You know how excitable he can be.”</p><p>
  <em> No more scoldings for now. It was tempting, but Heinrich was right; there was a time and place for that.  </em>
</p><p>“Of course, Uncle Heinrich,” answered Lysithea, holding out her arms to invite the much taller man to embrace her. Heinrich leaned in a bit and obliged, and the young woman gave him a gentle squeeze. “We’ll see you tonight at the manor for supper. Father had something nice in mind.”</p><p>“I can scarcely wait,” the old gentleman responded, offering the young viscountess a polite nod to dismiss himself. “I’ll try to find a nice tokaji in town on the way back. I think we could all enjoy a glass over dessert and a good debriefing.”</p><p>
  <em> Heinrich was very good at reading people; he could tell that she was having her second thoughts about chocolate, and that a dessert wine from the Kingdom probably would go over better with her. Her Uncle Aldo may have been a clever and charismatic politician, but Lysithea always knew that his spouse had a wit to match even her mother’s. The mind to Aldo’s heart. </em>
</p><p>As Heinrich waved and disappeared with his company of mages into the crowded streets, Aldo cleared his throat and smiled down at Lysithea.</p><p>“Right then, what exactly did Heinrich pick up on that I seem to be missing?” the kindly, old lord asked. Lysithea chuckled and held fast to his arm as she explained it to him on their way back to her family’s manor. Aldo did not take long to pick up on where the thread of the conversation was heading, and when the viscountess was about to bring up the county’s recent alignment with the Empire, he asked her to save that thought until after they got home together. It was clear that even here in Athirne and among his own personal guard, Aldo did not fully trust the ears of those around him. </p><p>
  <em> Lysithea and her parents had waited years to tell her Uncle Aldo the full truth of what happened after the incident with the Hryms, and this walk - for however short it was - felt like an added eternity. She had to stop herself from getting any more impatient than she already was, and occupy herself with conversation until she and her godfather returned home together. </em>
</p><p>Ordelia manor was relatively plain as far as demesnes in Fódlan were concerned. Tall walls surrounded it on four sides, with spired towers connecting each wall at the corners. The estate house itself was a tall building of gray granite, and Lysithea often wondered by its architecture whether it was originally built to be a fortress or a cathedral. She remembered learning that House Ordelia was once an offshoot of House Charon before the Leicester Alliance broke off from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and deduced that her ancestors had likely built their curious castle to honour the Church after the Crescent Moon War some three hundred years ago.</p><p>Lysithea and Aldo had been chatting casually for some while as they strolled through the main gate and into the courtyard together. The old lord paused to dismiss his personal guard, and the knights that accompanied him dispersed to mingle with the soldiers who kept watch over the Ordelia family. When the pair made their way into the estate, the crack of the door echoed out through the spacious yet sparsely decorated foyer. As the sounds of their footsteps slowed from a pace to a steady crawl, Lysithea knew that her godfather would want to stop by the one flourish that tied this room together.</p><p>“Hello, little ones,” Aldo greeted a large, framed painting on the wall, a hint of sadness betraying the usual zeal in his voice. “You would have simply loved the winter festival your Uncle Heinrich and I put on today. I gave one of your songs to a talented pair of musicians out there this morning, Elara, and I swear I heard your voice when they performed it.”</p><p>Looking up at the painting along with the kindly old lord, Lysithea took a moment to soak it in again.</p><p>
  <em> That’s right! Elara was a singer and poet, wasn’t she? Lysithea’s parents told her that her oldest sister used to sing her lullabies that she wrote all by herself, and how she sometimes used to sneak off into town to sing to the people. Aldo was probably thinking of how she might’ve liked to sing at the festival today too, and giving her song to Stef and Rosy was the perfect way to keep her legacy alive. That’s why The Bear and the Raven sounded so familiar!  </em>
</p><p>“And look at you, you cheeky pair of rascals!” Lord Edgar continued, “I’d wager good coin that you’d find some excuse to give your poor sister here some grief with your antics!”</p><p>
  <em> If half the stories of the twins were true, then they very well might have! Hyacinth and Leda were only older than Lysithea by a year, but they apparently loved to run around and cause trouble together. Her older brother and sister would have been twenty-one this year, but Lysithea imagined that she would’ve had to act the older sibling to them in the midst of today’s festivities. </em>
</p><p>“I would think it might have something to do with her new ‘beauty mark’; it isn’t like Lysithea to leave good chocolate go uneaten, even if it’s on her face,” the young woman heard from across the foyer. Though the kitchen was not far away and her father was a remarkably quiet walker, his sudden entrance might have frightened her had he not announced himself with a playful comment. “Though if the pair of you are back from the festival this early, then I suppose I should prepare some tea and meet you both in the sitting room.”</p><p>“Bah, no need for tea, Lord Oleander,” Aldo assured jovially. “You and your family have been nothing but hospitable since our arrival. If what you have to discuss is serious enough that you’d allow me a week to co-opt your beautiful city for a raucous street festival, then all I need is your presence. Now, where is Lady Dahlia?”</p><p>“Present!” Lysithea’s mother called, scurrying over from down the hallway. The countess appeared in the foyer shortly thereafter, dressed in her riding attire and looking slightly winded. “You two are quite lucky to have caught me before I headed out into town to find you. Imagine my frustration if you had come home a few moments later. I trust Heinrich has been placed in charge of the city watch?”</p><p>“Naturally,” the old lord replied. “You have my word that he and his Sorcery Corps will keep lovely Athirne safe and sound. Now I’m assuming that what you called us here to talk about was this faux-alignment Lysithea here has arranged with Gloucester and the Empire? The three of you may have the rest of Fódlan fooled, but I know better than most that you wouldn’t treat with the Empire unless you had a plan of attack. We <em> are </em>still at war, aren’t we?”</p><p>“Perceptive as always, Aldo,” Oleander chuckled amusedly. </p><p>“Hah! Balderdash!” Aldo guffawed. “You said it yourself, my lord: Lysithea’s dour expression and chocolate ‘mole’ gave me what I needed to put that much together. My little lady, please: tell your old Uncle Aldo what you were trying to say on the way over.”</p><p>
  <em> Lysithea was beginning to suspect that her weakness for sweets was something someone less savoury might try to exploit someday. Waffles were not to be trusted... </em>
</p><p>“Well, you’ve put together quite a bit by yourself, Uncle,” the young noblewoman retorted, shamelessly wiping the chocolate from her face with her finger and popping it into her mouth. “Perhaps you’d like to guess the rest?”</p><p>“A challenge!” laughed her godfather. “Very well… I assume you and Duke Claude are still in correspondence, even though your father’s trips to Derdriu have become less and less frequent since the ‘alignment’ became official. It’s been four years since the Battle of Garreg Mach, so… hm, ah yes! What you all have planned is waiting on the monastery’s Millennium Festival! How am I doing so far?”</p><p>“Not bad,” Lysithea hummed, acknowledging the old baron’s ingenuity as she gestured him and her family towards the sitting room. “Though you’re still far from the means and motive, not to mention the end goal. If you were clever enough to use a chocolate waffle to bait a reaction out of me, Uncle, then I’m sure you’ve put the rest together too.”</p><p>“Time, my lady! Give me a moment’s time to figure it out!” Aldo pleaded, rubbing his bearded chin as he and the Ordelias headed to the next room over. “None of you strike me as the sort to chase revenge for the Hryms and… well, no offense to your friend in the Kingdom, but I doubt you’d do this all for his sake either.” When the group reached the sitting room, Lysithea watched as Aldo plopped himself down on an armchair and grumbled to himself as he pondered. “And restoring the county to its former glory isn’t enough for you, now is it?” He thought a moment longer before throwing up his hands. “Oh, I give in! What is it you all have planned?”</p><p>Though Lysithea would normally have been pleased with herself to have stumped her wily old godfather, her answer was too touchy a subject to make light of in such a fashion. Instead she sufficed by taking a seat in the chair across from Aldo and nodding at him.</p><p>“You were very close, Uncle,” she said calmly. “Restoring our lands and bringing up our people was only the first step. Everything we’ve done up to this point has allowed us to organise for the cause of a united front more effectively than we tried to at the beginning of the war, while also building up the critical infrastructure our people will need for the next phase of our plan.”</p><p>Aldo raised an intrigued brow and nodded for her to continue.</p><p>“If Claude’s ‘golden scheme’ goes well and we’re able to secure the Alliance from Imperial control, Ordelia and the rest of the Alliance freeholds will be able to reorganise themselves without the influence of the Empire or the Church,” Lysithea explained. “And with that freedom, we as a family plan to convert the County into a republic and divest our claim to nobility.”</p><p>“Divest?!” the old baron nearly choked. “Why ever would you do that?! Lysithea, you know how much faith our people and I have in you! Why, you have a bright and promising future as the next Countess von Ordelia! How could you give that up?”</p><p>“Uncle Aldo… I don’t have a choice,” the young viscountess gulped hesitantly. “There is no future for me… House Ordelia will end with my parents’ generation, and I want them to live their lives free from worry after our work is done. I have about six years to see it through before…”</p><p>The baron’s expression had gone from stunned to exasperated, and Lysithea’s mother aptly cleared her throat to cut the tension.</p><p>“Aldo, dear, do you remember what happened after the Hrym Rebellion?” Dahlia interjected, trying to prime the old man for the worst. “I’m sure the Imperial officials stationed here at Ordelia manor told you all sorts of things to keep you from visiting us and the children.”</p><p>“They did,” Lord Edgar replied stiffly. “They said that a case of the Weeping Plague had been brought in by one of the children, and that the entire household was under quarantine. Heinrich and I thought it all rather queer when we considered that the plague had been ended in Faerghus, but we were convinced when we heard that dear Hyacinth passed away suddenly in his sleep.”</p><p>“That wasn’t the truth,” sighed Oleander. “Elara, the twins, their cousins from the east, and even Lysithea… mages from the Empire gathered them all together here and confined us all to our rooms. We thought it was a form of house arrest at first, but we were not allowed to see the children… not even when we were made to bury them. After Hyacinth died, I wrote to my brother with a plan to spirit the children out. I knew the mages were reading my mail and so I used a cypher to hide the message, but…”</p><p>“You’re saying it was the Empire that killed Lord Lupin and his wife?” Aldo demanded, dropping his usual air of politeness for his overlords. “By the Goddess, Oleander, how have you kept this a secret for so many years? Argh, never mind that! What were they doing to the children?!”</p><p>A terse silence fell upon the room for a short while before Dahlia looked to Lysithea and nodded at her. The young viscountess sighed and nodded back, holding out her right hand and letting her Minor Crest of Charon manifest itself in a glowing red circle of magic that floated above her palm. Aldo squinted unimpressed at the sight of the Crest, knowing well that Charon blood flowed through the veins of the Ordelia family. Then Lysithea closed her eyes and extended her left hand, and her Major Crest of Gloucester manifested itself as well. The young woman heard her godfather draw a sharp gasp of disbelief at the sight of her twin Crests, and shuddered at his shock.</p><p>“Th-This is impossible…” the old lord quaked. “Lysithea, your mother may be a distant relation of the Gloucesters, but this cannot be real. No person has ever borne two Crests before...”</p><p>“That’s right…” Lysithea murmured back, opening her eyes and staring blankly at her Crests. “They said I was the first. Those mages from the Empire knew of our lineage and used us for their experiments. My cousins were their control group, while my brother, my sisters, and I were their primary subjects. We were confined to our rooms for two and a half years while they experimented on our blood, and the strain of the surgeries they conducted on us killed everyone but me… Because of the Crest I was born with, I alone survived to succeed where the others failed. Those mages… they called me their ‘prototype’…”</p><p>“...Their ‘prototype’?” Aldo gulped. “What does that mean? Are there others? Sweet child, what does this mean for you?”</p><p>Lysithea watched as her parents averted their gaze from her godfather, and she balled up her fists to hide away her Crests before placing them in her lap.</p><p>“Exactly as I said, Uncle,” she replied. “The strain my Crests place on my body is going to kill me in six years... you’ve already seen some of the symptoms. My hair, my growth, those headaches I get when I become angry… I’ve had… um, other issues as well… Even if I wanted to take over House Ordelia, I wouldn’t be able to keep it alive beyond me.”</p><p>The young woman watched as her godfather sunk deep into his chair, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he contemplated what he was being told. Another terse silence fell over the room, and neither Lysithea nor her parents knew quite how to handle it.</p><p>“You mentioned wanting to turn the County into a... ‘republic’,” Aldo finally said, breaking the quietness that hung about the air like a thick fog. <em> “‘Res publica’ </em> or ‘things public’ <em> - </em>if my ancient Adrestian is worth a damn. Everything you’ve been building up these last four years… you intend to leave everything to the people of Ordelia?”</p><p>
  <em> There was her wily old Uncle Aldo. </em>
</p><p>Lysithea nodded proudly and smiled at her godfather. “A friend of mine inspired me to teach the common people here to read and write, and keeping them well-fed and warm through the winters is going to make it easier for them to learn. When this war is over, I intend to establish a literacy program so that the people of Ordelia can inform themselves of who they’ll choose to lead them.”</p><p>“And you intend to win a war and get all this done in six years?” Aldo responded, looking up at her and smiling back weakly. “I think you could do it in four.”</p><p>The viscountess felt her heart swell at her godfather’s simple gesture of support, and she stood up with the intention of making her way to his side so she could hold his hand. The moment she did, however, her vision became a bit blurry and her head started to swim.</p><p>“Lysithea, your nose!” she heard her mother call out. “Dear, you’re bleeding!”</p><p>Lysithea reached up to touch her upper lip and saw her bright blood against the tips of her pale fingers. The whole room was spinning now, and she collapsed backwards into the chair she had stood up from but a moment ago. The conversation, the festival, her parents and godfather, and even her home seemed to slip away from her as her vision began to fail her. While her family rushed to her side and struggled to keep her awake, Lysithea could only focus on how quickly she was blinking before she lost consciousness completely.</p><p>
  <em> What in the world had just happened? What was going on with her? Why had she passed out and why was it suddenly so dark in the sitting room? </em>
</p><p>Lysithea stirred and saw that she was not in her armchair; she was not even in the sitting room. She was lying down in a dark, blurry room where she could neither smell, taste, nor feel a thing. Only sight and sound existed in this place, and they were sparse. The soul source of light here was one that shone weakly from beneath what appeared to be a door on the other side of the room. </p><p>The young woman looked around and squinted to make better sense of her surroundings. The walls were covered in a familiar floral wallpaper and the ceiling in white plaster. This meant that Lysithea had likely been taken upstairs to her room, which may have been relieving had it not been so utterly dark in here. Upon closer inspection, she also realised that whatever she was lying on - which she assumed was her bed - was not where her bed ordinarily had been.</p><p>
  <em> Had her parents rearranged the furniture while she was out? Just what was going on, and why was it so…  </em>
</p><p>Before long, Lysithea’s fear of the dark crept in as her ability to process things came back together. She opened up her palm and curled her fingers a bit to light things up with a tiny plume of fire magic, but the spell failed. Frustrated, she chanted the incantation in her mind as if she were a fledgling mage or even a child, but still her magic was not working... and the dark was becoming more than she could bear.</p><p>
  <em> Okay… she had to hold it together. It was just the dark! It was nothing but an absence of light, and it alone couldn’t hurt her… It wasn’t even tangible… but what if something hiding in it was? Her magic wasn’t working and her body wasn’t moving the way she wanted it to just yet. Rationalising things wasn’t helping! </em>
</p><p>When Lysithea tried to lift her arm, it would not budge. She looked down her body to see something dark fastened around her pale wrist, holding it in place. It was the same with her legs, her ankles, her torso, and even her shoulders. Each time she tried to move a part of her body, she heard the sound of leather twisting against the wooden frame of her bed.</p><p>
  <em> She couldn’t move, she could barely see… but her hands were free enough to open and close at her own discretion. Perhaps her mouth was too! Perhaps saying the stupid incantation for her fire spell would produce something. If not, she could call for help. </em>
</p><p>The young woman tried, but her words came out as a muffled mess. There was something in her mouth keeping her from speaking. Lysithea tried to bite down on the object, but she heard no crack nor any give. Her situation was quickly going from bad to dire.</p><p>
  <em> This was familiar… More than that… She had lived it before! She remembered being in the dark like this for two and a half years when she was little… No, it wasn’t ‘like this’; this was it exactly! She was fastened to her old bed in her old room again, wasn’t she? What in the world was going on? </em>
</p><p>Fear gave way to fury, and Lysithea thrashed in her bed to try and struggle free from her bindings. Her restraints did not budge, but her movements did jostle something beside her that caught the light ever so faintly. It was a flask filled with red liquid that jingled against the metal stand that held it up above her. Lysithea’s fury subsided, and fear consumed her mind instantly and unrelentingly.</p><p>
  <em> She was hooked up again, wasn’t she? That flask was full of altered blood. If they were dripping it into her veins again, then they would be coming in soon to perform their rites. What was next? Needles, knives, spells… All of it was coming back to her. They were preparing her for another blood reconstruction surgery! Wasn’t two Crests enough?! Where was her Uncle Aldo? Her Uncle Heinrich? Where were her parents? </em>
</p><p>Amidst the deafening silence and the frightful dark, Lysithea suddenly heard a faint yet melodic sound ring out from beside her. It started as a slight murmur at first, but it became clearer and clearer the more the young woman listened out for it. It was the sound of a young woman’s voice humming. When she looked in the direction of the humming, however, she merely saw the floral pattern pasted onto her bedroom wall. Lysithea did not immediately recognise the tune, but it became gradually more familiar the longer she listened. </p><p>
  <em> She had heard this song before… today, in fact, if today was still the day of the festival! Was that Rosy? </em>
</p><p>Lysithea closed her eyes and allowed the gentle melody to soothe her frayed nerves. Something about this familiar tune managed to ease the despair that the darkness and her present helplessness threatened to mire her in. She did not question it at first, instead allowing it to nearly lull her to sleep, but there was something about its familiarity that extended beyond the festival.</p><p>
  <em> Whoever was humming to her from the other side of the wall was doing so to comfort her… Somehow she knew that now. But how? Who was humming? Whose room was next to hers? Elara… It was Elara! It was the sound of her humming the tune to The Bear and the Raven! Muffled a bit, perhaps by the wall and the bit that was probably placed in her mouth too, but it was her song all the same! But… Elara was dead. Had Lysithea died too? Why had she wound up back here? If this was punishment for something she had done in life, why was Elara back here too? She hadn’t done anything wrong! </em>
</p><p>Opening her eyes, Lysithea scowled and tried to reassess her situation. She was lashed to her bed with a bit in her mouth and a tube likely in her arm. Her ability to wield magic had not come back just yet, and… when she looked down at her body, she realised from the distance between her head and her feet that she had shrunk considerably.</p><p>
  <em> She was a child again?! Or… had she never stopped being a child? Had all of those memories of what would come after this terrible ordeal been a fabrication? Something she allowed herself to believe to escape the awfulness of her current situation… Surviving all of this to see the sun and feel the fresh air again, to read and learn, to plan for her dwindling future, to learn magic and go to school, to make friends… to make a best friend and come to grips with her feelings about him… Had all of that been the grand dream of a doomed girl? </em>
</p><p>Suddenly, Lysithea’s ears perked to the sound of the doorknob turning on the other side of the room. Elara’s humming had not stopped, but the persistent clicking of the knob as the person on the other end of the door let themselves in filled Lysithea with an energy she could actually feel. It was the first thing she had felt since waking up, and she intended to harness it to protect herself and save her sister.</p><p>
  <em> Perhaps there was hope for all of them! Elara, the twins, her cousins… she could save them all if the spells she remembered from her dream were anything to go on! </em>
</p><p>As the door swung open and light flooded the room, Lysithea recited the incantation in her mind again and bolted upright with a brilliant billow of flames burning hot in her hand. She may have been small, but she intended to let fly as no mage ever had before her.</p><p>“Lysithea, no!” she heard her father’s voice call out. Cold, steely fingers grasped her wrist to prevent her from hurling her spell at the person who walked through the door, and Lysithea had to blink a few times to allow reality to sink back in. “You’re all right, dear!”</p><p>From across the room, Lysithea’s strained eyes made out the face of her terrified mother bringing a tray of steaming soup in for her. A bolt of shock ran up the viscountess’s spine and she quickly clenched her fist to dissipate her spell. Drawing a shaky breath, she looked around to see that she was in her own room again. Her proper room. Her furniture was right where it was supposed to be, and all of the pressed flowers, potpourris, and carved stones Cyril had sent her over the years decorated the shelves she had formerly used for her long-discarded school books.</p><p>As soon as Lysithea’s magic had been dispelled, Oleander let her wrist go and cupped her cheek as he passed her a look of immense concern. She saw how the candlelight in the room made the tiredness of his features even deeper than they normally did, and cursed herself for making him worry. Across the bed from him were Aldo and Heinrich, each of whom looked as if they had not slept for some while.</p><p>“I’m sorry…” Lysithea whimpered raggedly, slumping back down into her bed. The feeling in her body returned to her all at once when she woke up, and now she was feeling a heaviness in her joints and a sharp pain in her mouth.</p><p>Oleander pressed a cold hand up against her forehead and sighed, while Dahlia made her way towards the bed and took a seat in the chair beside her husband’s. </p><p>“No apologies necessary, dearest Lysithea,” her mother assured her warmly. “I had no idea you could quite literally cast spells in your sleep. I’m honestly more impressed than anything else, to be honest.”</p><p>“Your mother is incorrigible sometimes,” her father groaned, taking his hand off of Lysithea’s forehead. “Your fever seems to have died down a bit and your pupils look normal again. Could you open your mouth for me, dear, so I can heal your tongue? You bit down on it earlier.”</p><p>Lysithea nodded and did as her father asked, and Oleander got to work. It never ceased to surprise her how talented of a healer her father was, with his spell taking no more than a few seconds to complete before he let out a satisfied sigh. </p><p>“There we are,” the count hummed contentedly, raising both his hands for Lysithea to see. “Now tell me how many fingers you see.”</p><p>“Eight; your left pinky and ring finger are down,” she grumbled weakly, rolling her eyes at how simple his question seemed. “What is this all about, Father?”</p><p>“Oh, thank heavens,” Oleander replied, lowering his hands. “I was merely checking to see if everything was all right with your head. You came down with a sudden fever and then you had a seizure, dear. I thought you might have come down with something, but…”</p><p>“But everyone else here is just fine,” Aldo picked up where his overlord trailed off. “Lysithea, this has never happened before, has it?”</p><p>The young woman gulped and shook her head.</p><p>“Is she going to be well, Lord Oleander?” Heinrich asked, taking Aldo’s hand. “Was it something she ate? Or perhaps the cold? It is winter, after all!”</p><p>“No, Uncle Heinrich,” Lysithea murmured, pausing hesitantly before continuing softly, “I’m dying… I’ve been dying since I was five, and I’ll be lucky to make it to my twenty-sixth birthday.”</p><p>“How can you know that?” the concerned lord demanded. His husband gave his hand a squeeze, and he turned to see old Aldo nod. “You knew? For how long?!”</p><p>“Forgive me, my love; I’m afraid I allowed myself to become buried in my concerns,” responded the baron. “Our brave little lady here has a great dream to realise and not much time left to realise it. She told me as much this afternoon before she passed out. She and her family asked us here to disclose the truth of what happened to them after the Hrym Rebellion, and to ask us for our help in the trials to come.”</p><p>“Hrym? You mean the Empire is responsible for this?” Heinrich snapped, rubbing his temples with his free hand as he pieced together the situation. “Your alignment with them is a farce, that much is for certain. All of this Imperial gold that we’ve been using to build up our infrastructure here in Ordelia… Have you set some aside for the war effort? Lysithea, do you intend to use their own gold against them?”</p><p>Though she was exhausted, Lysithea managed a devilish smile and nodded.</p><p>“Diabolical,” the lord replied, unable to keep himself from smiling back. “And the Gloucesters are in on this as well, I assume. Hm, I imagine you and the young Leader of the Alliance have a plan in store to bring the Empire to its knees, haven’t you?”</p><p>“All that and more,” Dahlia answered for her daughter, pride swelling behind her voice. “Aldo will fill you in on the particulars later, Heinrich dear, but suffice to say: Lysithea has been a very busy young lady of late. She will need each of us to play our parts while she plays hers in a year’s time. For now, she needs her rest.”</p><p>When the others nodded and stood up to file out of the room, Lysithea gulped and called back, “Uncle Aldo, wait.”</p><p>“Yes, Lysithea? What is it?” the kindly old lord asked as Heinrich looked on beside him.</p><p>“My sister… Elara,” she responded. “When did she write that song?”</p><p>“A month before the Rebellion in Hrym,” Aldo answered. “She sent it to us as an anniversary gift, but I never had it performed before today. I wanted her to be the first...”</p><p>“Why today, then?” the viscountess asked.</p><p>“Because you reminded me that she’s still alive here,” the baron replied. “The festival wasn’t just for Heinrich and me; it was for you. When we rode in, I hadn’t seen the people of Athirne so happy since your sister used to come and sing to them. You were right, Lysithea; we need to take action that others can’t ignore. Heinrich and I will back your ambitions unto our dying breaths.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Lysihea said, closing her eyes and sighing gratefully. “Happy Anniversary…”</p><p>Lysithea felt the bristly hairs of her godfather’s beard tickle her hand as he pressed a gentle kiss of fealty onto her knuckles. With the heft of Edgars’ full support, the prospect of getting the rest of the Ordelian nobility to fall in line with her goals for the future of the county was essentially secured. It would still take some persuasion to force the reforms she was after, but the disruption that Claude’s plans promised to bring would provide plenty of room for change. Regardless, Lysithea felt a great sense of conflict in her heart.</p><p>
  <em> She was going to drag everyone here all away from the merriment of these halcyon days back into war and strife… and possibly into a new political upheaval as well. But it was going to be worth it! Together, they would bring an end to the Empire’s war of expansion and stop those monsters in the dark from cruelly silencing anymore songs. And through good policy aimed at uplifting the people, ordinary citizens of Ordelia would get a real chance to shape their own destinies and reach out to people they may have had nothing to do with before. There was a little more than a year left before it all picked up again, and then… and then she’d be back at Garreg Mach. There were so many reunions Lysithea had been anticipating over the last four years, but if she ever got to see Cyril again… there was so much she had to tell him. Where was she to start? While Lysithea ordinarily liked to go into things with a plan… perhaps she could let her heart do the steering on that one. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey, readers! I'm going to start chopping down these end notes to just encompass my writing process from here on out. Let me know what you think if you have an opinion at all!</p><p>So this chapter was really fun to write! My initial draft looked pretty bleak because I basically wrote down everything I had in mind from my outline, so I went through it during my commutes to work this week and brainstormed some ideas to give it some extra weight and make it more fun. The result was a lot of extra emphasis added to the festival that we get in the beginning of the chapter. I really wanted it to be fun and light-hearted before things took a turn for the worse, while also foreshadowing some other events, and I basically put myself in Lysithea's mindset for a little while to figure out just about all of the bases I'd need to touch for her to enjoy herself. Sweets? Check. Politics? Check. Giving the people closest to her a tongue lashing? CHECK! Her best friend? Ch- wait. Hahaha, it was a blast! I also wanted to give a bit of context into who the other Ordelia children by showing and not telling. This was a little tough (because they're dead), but the festival was a really great plot device to introduce them, tie them into the story of the chapter, and draw parallels between the legacies they left behind and the legacy Lysithea hopes to leave behind after she's gone as well. </p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it, and maybe consider sharing it around if you feel like someone you know might enjoy it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Cyril: Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1184</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In foregoing one opportunity, Cyril gains some much-needed perspective from another.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: The internal narratives in this piece are in italics to separate them from more objective narratives left in plain font.</p><p>Special thanks to my beta reader, hardkourparcore, for their insight and perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The emergence of the sun and the abating northern chill were the surest signs that winter was slowly crawling to a close in the remnants of the Kingdom. The final blizzards of the season had blown over the icy countryside, and cracks in the clouds above were a cause of great relief among the many residents of frigid Faerghus. By this time next month, the snowmelt would trickle down into roaring rivers and the nation would begin bursting to life again beneath the springtime sun. Though the northernmost reaches of Faerghus were still buried under a deep layer of winter snow, the southern half of the Holy Kingdom was already beginning to defrost. There, roads had become muddy where they were not iced over, and this was an abundant reality for those who travelled further south towards the Oghma Mountains that divided Fódlan’s three great nations. Those same mountains were very visible on the horizon from Gwyndion, the ancestral seat of House Charon, and the keep itself had been almost entirely scoured of snow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Castles and fortresses in Faerghus were often indistinguishable from each other. Their thick, weather-resistant walls towered tall over the rest of the landscape in order to keep invaders from climbing them when the snow piled high. Inside these walls, the estates of the lords who reigned over them were flanked on all sides by a myriad of homes, inns, businesses, and storehouses that made up their castle towns. This may have been seen as unusual in any other part of the world, but the freezing winters in Faerghus made the concept of huddling together for warmth a societal necessity. Now as the weather began to improve, those who resided within the walls of Gwyndion bustled to work in preparation for the coming spring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you won’t come along with us tonight?” asked a moustachioed knight as he and the young man beside him guided a pair of draught horses towards a cart at the end of the stables. “You could ride with me into town to pick up the armour Seteth commissioned for those new recruits, and we’d go straight from the smithy to the Charon estate in time for the festivities. I’m sure every veteran knight in attendance would be glad to argue your case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I don’t wanna put ya guys through any more trouble on account of me,” the young man answered with a shrug. “Besides, Alois, I’m not a knight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t even a Fódlaner.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I can change that!” Alois responded so heartily that he nearly spooked his horse. “It only takes a knight to make a knight, and you’ve been fighting alongside us for so long now that it’s a wonder you haven’t been formally inducted into our ranks! What do you say? No time like the present!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s nice of ya to offer, but it isn’t about any of that right now,” Cyril sighed. “The Knights of Seiros need more people, not more knights; and I’m just one person. Besides, it’s just a feast tonight. I don’t really feel like causing a big scene all so I can stuff myself so full that I can’t walk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alois held his tongue as he and Cyril approached the carriage and began hitching the horses to the wagon. It was unusual for Alois to be this quiet for even a handful of seconds, and Cyril gathered that it was because the truth of it stung the veteran knight. The reality of Cyril’s situation stung for most of the people who knew him best, but he had come to accept it far more readily than any of them had.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People’d probably think twice before joining the Knights of Seiros if an Almyran was one of them. It wasn’t fair, but that was life. As far as Cyril saw things, he was doing a whole lot more for them as just a… Cyril… than he ever could as a full-blown knight. Seteth, Catherine, and Alois were great recruiters, and they did even better at their jobs when Cyril kept his head down or stayed out of the way entirely. The only thing that feeling bad about any of this did was sour the mood, and Alois and his annoyingly cheerful disposition were expected at a big feast soon. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“But hey, Alois…” the young man started hesitantly as he worked, trying hard to sound jovial. “Can ya tell me one of your jokes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, sure! That’s a great idea to lift the spirits!” the knight replied, perking to attention. “What do you get when you cross a rhetorical question and a joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alois was grinning now, and Cyril looked to him and sighed as he offered a smile in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, what?” the young man asked, expecting a terrible punchline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knight did not respond, but his grin soon gave way to a burst of laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Cyril asked again, before the realisation slowly hit him. “Oh… Yeah, uh… A rhetorical question isn’t supposed to be answered. I… get it.” He gulped. “Ya got any more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was already regretting this; Alois’s jokes were the worst.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alois rubbed his chin and hummed as he thought until inspiration came to him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got it! This one’s a real rib tickler!” the veteran knight exclaimed. “So, there are these two windmills standing in a field together. The first one asks the second, ‘What’s your favourite kind of music?’ and the second one says, ‘I’m a big fan of country folk!’. Haha, not bad, wouldn’t you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to stand another one of Alois’s jokes, Cyril cringed and shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad they make ya happy, Alois, but your jokes are terrible,” the young man replied curtly as he went back to work on the horses. “I think ya know that, though, don’tcha?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah, I suppose so,” chuckled the knight. “I was never the jester that Captain Jeralt was, and even though most of these are his jokes, I never could land the delivery… well, mostly never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on, ya mean someone actually laughs at your jokes?” Cyril asked, bewildered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes!” Alois answered fondly. “My daughter, Aaliyah, used to love my jokes! Granted, she was hardly much more than a babe when I saw her last and she’d laugh at anything I’d say loudly enough, but she always seemed to know just when to laugh! The perfect audience!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he secured his horse into its reins, Cyril looked over to Alois and raised a brow. He had heard quite a bit about Aaliyah from her father over the years. If crossing the Dukedom into the Empire were a possibility at any point during these years at war, Cyril would have liked to take Alois home to Remire to visit - or even exfiltrate - his family. As things stood, however, Alois’s shrewd wife had written to him at the onset of things, informing him that every one of the Knights’ families in Adrestia had been under Imperial watch. He had not heard back from her since, and deduced that she was likely maintaining her silence to keep them all safe. There was no way Alois was going to see his wife or Aaliyah again until at least next year, but the thought of seeing them again seemed to motivate the veteran knight instead of discouraging him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>War had a way of tearing families apart, but it was nice to know someone who wasn’t going to let that stop him from fighting his way back to his own family.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then, there was Dimitri,” the knight continued with a chuckle, helping Cyril lift the shafts of the cart to fix the horses into place. “Back at Garreg Mach, he said my jokes were so unfunny that he found them hilarious… in a roundabout sort of way, I suppose. His laughter back then seemed so much more alive and sincere than what we heard back in Fhirdiad. In retrospect, I suppose I’m grateful that was the side of him I knew best...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Cyril replied, wistfully contemplating aloud as he continued to work. “Makes ya wonder what things’d be like if people focused less on what they lost and more on what they had. Dimitri, Gilbert… maybe even Professor Jeritza and Edelgard. When I think of people who gave up on us or even of our enemies like that, I guess it makes it harder for me to hate them. That doesn’t make me weak or wrong, does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a final push, the two men managed to heave the shafts of the cart into place, the metal latches snapping together with an audible click.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say so; if anything, I’d say it makes you a better man than most,” Alois responded with a sigh, smiling as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I assume you’ll be in the aviary with Saam later this evening? If you won’t let me knight you, the least you could do would be to let me bring you a pasty from the feast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, Alois,” the young man said back, watching the veteran knight climb into the seat of the cart before handing him the reins. “See ya and the others later tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Crust</span>
  </em>
  <span> in me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pie</span>
  </em>
  <span> won’t let you down!” the older man quipped, laughing as he cracked the reins and began to ride off. Cyril followed behind him as far as the stable gate before watching Alois and his cart disappear off into the castle town. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What a goof. A good man with a kind heart, but a total goof all the same.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the veteran knight was out of sight, the young man closed the gate and headed out on his own. Missing out on tonight’s feast meant that Cyril had the rest of the day off, and he hoped to find somewhere quiet and secluded so he could enjoy it in peace. Though the last four years of fighting, fleeing, and searching had been long and tumultuous, Cyril had come to learn that he was truly at his most vulnerable when he was alone with his guard down.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The sooner he got to the aviary, the better. It might not’ve been much more than a repurposed lumber mill, but it was the safest place for him right now. It had a tall fence to keep people out, a Church banner flying from the flagpole to let them know that it was in use by the Knights of Seiros, and a pair of battle-hardened wvyerns living inside to send any intruder brave or dumb enough to enter packing. If he shoveled the poop from the stables into the manure pile outside, gave each of the wyverns a good brushing down, and tossed a little extra wood into the hearth there, that old building would probably feel real nice and homey. If he could scrounge up a good enough hunk of pine, he’d be able to whittle it down into something nice to send Lysithea.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Satisfied with his plans for the rest of his day, Cyril pulled the hood of his winter mantle over his head and made his way through the crowded streets of Gwyndion towards his destination. Though he was slightly more accustomed to the cold now than he had been in years past, he kept himself covered up all the same for his own protection. To stroll down these streets with his hair, skin, or eyes exposed was to invite others to harass him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flowers for sale!” shouted a merchant, peddling their wares to passersby. “Garlands of snowdrops and winter lilies! Two coppers a piece, three for two!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spiced tea!” another street vendor called out. “Spiced tea and hot buns!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need a watch, good traveller?” came a bold salesman, approaching Cyril to try and show him his collection of pocket watches. “One for a silver, and I’ll throw in the chain for no extra charge!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No thanks,” the young man declined as he continued to walk. Stopping was out of the question as well; behind the counter of every aromatic bakery or enticing curio stand, there was like to be a confrontation lying in wait. The coming spring had stirred commerce back to life in Faerghus, making the short walk from the stables to the aviary all the more hazardous for Cyril.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He just had to keep his head down and not stop moving. Street shopping was for locals only, and it wasn’t as if he had a pair of coppers to rub together anyway. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally escaping the bustling market district, Cyril felt the slippery cobblestone beneath his feet give way to damp gravel. It would not be long before he could remove his hood and come inside from the cold. When at last he was within spitting distance of the aviary, Cyril’s ears picked up on the sound of Saam and Tethra chittering at each other from within… and also the snap of a bow. He looked up from the ground and saw nothing in the immediate vicinity of the old mill, but the sound of another shot cracked off from nearby. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Whoever was firing their bow was doing it from behind the aviary. This was a quiet part of town, so whoever was here probably wanted to be left alone. Could that have been Shamir?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, hello?” came Cyril, announcing himself as he rounded the mill cautiously. “Shamir, is that-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go inside, Cyril,” the voice of a woman ordered, the sound of her bowstring stretching as she drew it back. When the young man peeked his head around the corner of the building, he caught sight of his mentor letting her arrow fly at a bale of hay far on the other side of the lumberyard. Refusing to acknowledge him, Shamir merely sighed and drew another arrow from her quiver. “I’m not going to repeat myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was a good shot,” the young man blurted out, too curious to comply with his mentor’s command. “Is… something up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the present moment? Yes,” she replied, nocking her arrow and taking aim. “You’re interfering with my rate of fire.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Something clearly was up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I sit and watch?” he asked, mindfully stepping out from behind the corner. “I won’t say anything unless ya ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t stop you,” the taciturn archer retorted, drawing back the bowstring again and firing in a single, fluid motion. The arrow sailed across the yard and sunk deep into the hay bale on the other side. “Though you won’t be saying much if you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cyril cleared his throat and made his way over a log behind Shamir to take a seat. He had to brush the snow from the great length of lumber with his bare hands before sitting down, and the icy chill of its frozen bark sent a chill up the length of his body when he took a seat. Shamir, for her part, remained silent. She had not so much as looked at Cyril since he arrived, and went about her practice as if he were not there at all. When the last of her arrows were spent, she crossed the yard by herself to retrieve them from the hay bale.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even though she was firing across the length of an entire building, Shamir didn’t miss a single shot. Cyril had seen her in action in the field, but it still seemed crazy that someone could be so accurate across such a distance… and so consistently too!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With her quiver refilled, Shamir made her way back to her original position on Cyril’s side of the yard. The young man kept to his word, staying silent and merely watching as his mentor walked back; seemingly looking through him as she did. The pair of them kept this silent routine up through three full quivers of arrows. When Shamir loosed her last shot, she finally turned to Cyril and offered him a stiff-lipped expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re stubborn,” she said, finally breaking the silence between them. “What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By this point in time, Cyril’s lips had turned blue. He had never truly warmed to the cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T-To talk, I guess,” he croaked, visibly shivering in his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inside,” Shamir sighed, gesturing to the aviary with her head. “Go clean up and get warm first, while I get my arrows back. Do that and then we’ll talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding enthusiastically, Cyril leapt up from his seat and dashed towards the entrance of the mill without a word of protest. As soon as he pulled the door open, Saam and Tethra growled angrily at him for letting the cold in. Cyril mumbled some words of apology to the two wyverns before tossing a few chunks of firewood into the hearth and getting to work. Shovelling the dung from the wyverns’ stables into a neat pile and heaving it outside for composting, Cyril felt his blood warming to life through the purposeful movement of his labour. Stablework agreed with him and he was interested to know why Shamir had chosen to spend her afternoon at the aviary instead of at the Charon estate with the others. By the time he had taken his second shovelful out and come back in from the cold, Cyril saw his mentor standing by the hearth with her bow slung over her shoulder and her quiver of arrows full at her hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he greeted again unsurprised at how discreetly she managed to enter the aviary. This time, Shamir acknowledged him with a brief glance before turning her attention back to the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was about as good as a ‘hey’ back as far as Shamir was concerned. He’d better get finished with his work before she lost interest and walked off. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cyril scooped up another shovelful of manure and heaved it outside, half expecting Shamir to have left as quietly as she came. In spite of his concerns, however, he saw that his mentor remained by the fire each time he left the mill to dump the refuse. When the last of it was gone, he stowed away his shovel and made his way to her side, holding his hands out in front of the fire to warm them up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you’d stick around,” the young man gasped, catching his breath as he stared into the flickering flames. “Here at the aviary, I mean… and not at the feast. I thought Catherine woulda wanted ya there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t the only one unwelcome there,” the archer replied coldly. “The count doesn’t approve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said that?” Cyril asked in response, raising a brow. “I thought everyone up here likes ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t have to,” Shamir answered plainly. “I can tell. It makes sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cyril was confused now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does it make sense?” the young man grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catherine,” the taciturn knight responded. “Her Crest, her blood, Thunderbrand… She’s her family’s future. That future ends if she stays with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cyril hadn’t considered all that until just now, but it made a depressing amount of sense. Two women couldn’t have kids anymore than two men could. Even though Fódlaners didn’t seem to mind when people of whatever gender got together, that probably only extended to people without Crests. He had almost forgotten how much stock these people put into Crests, and it was even more of a thing here in the north.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna end it with her, are ya?” he asked with a nervous gulp. “Ya guys are probably the best couple I’ve ever met. It doesn’t really feel right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter how it feels,” Shamir said, rolling her eyes. “I’m an obstacle to the line of succession. It didn’t end well for Miklan Gautier, and I don’t intend to see how it will end for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what about Catherine?” Cyril insisted. “Aren’t ya even a little upset?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You clearly aren’t listening; feelings don’t factor into this,” the knight replied. “Besides, I’ve lost a partner before. At least this time, it will be on my terms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...What did she mean by that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“This time?” he echoed. “Did your last partner dump ya or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shamir exhaled sharply and stared hard into the flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or something,” she answered, pausing to shoot him a chilly glare. “If you tell anyone about this, I’m going to kill you. Understood?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing that this was less of a threat than a promise, Cyril gulped before looking his mentor in the eyes and nodding resolutely. She hardly reacted with much more than a blink, but the subtle way she averted her gaze told him that this was not a topic she enjoyed discussing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My last partner… he and I grew up together in a Dagdan mercenary company,” she spoke, her regular intonation wavering slightly. “We fought together for years before he proposed to me and we broke off by ourselves to start up our own group. Our new company kept Dagda safe from pirates and brigands while the standing army went overseas to invade Adrestia. We carried out every contract assigned to us, and we ended up making a name for ourselves. When it was announced that the war effort abroad had failed and that the Empire was launching a counter invasion, the king of Dagda assured our people that repelling the invaders would be an easy task for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That wasn’t how it turned out at all, was it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blinded by our youth, our success, and the king’s words, my partner and I took up one last contract with the crown and planned for our future,” the knight continued. “We filled each others’ heads with all of these stupid plans of what we were going to do together afterwards. We would leave the mercenary life behind us to travel the world together, start a family, raise children… all of that romantic fare. It all seemed possible for a while; we had been offered a king’s bounty for the life of a single target. After that, we could live out the rest of our lives in peace and comfort…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who was the target?” Cyril asked reluctantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Bergliez,” Shamir said, matter-of-factly. “If we had any idea we were up against the man who captured Brigid in less than a month, we would’ve ambushed his ship at sea instead of trying to meet his forces on the battlefield.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Caspar’s dad?” the young man blurted out. “You’re saying you guys tried to fight him in an open battle? I heard he hasn’t ever lost before...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shamir nodded and let out a weary sigh. “I only survived because I covered myself in my partner’s blood and hid under his body for a day and a half. When I was sure the Imperial forces had left the battlefield, I buried my intended, gathered up what I could, and left Dagda for Fódlan. There was nothing left for me in my homeland, and I knew mercenary work would be easier to find somewhere that wasn’t under foreign occupation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Lady Rhea?” asked Cyril. “Ya never told me how you met her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put it together yourself,” Shamir said, likely sick of doing all the talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reflecting on what his mentor had told him, Cyril drew on his own experiences to fill in the blanks for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t used to being alone, were ya?” he guessed. “Your whole life, you had people fighting next to ya. People who cared and didn’t mind keeping the enemy far enough away so you could hit ‘em from a distance. Striking it out by yourself might’ve suited you fine in your personal life, but picking up contracts that paid enough to get by on was probably hard to do alone.  When Lady Rhea took ya in, you were probably on your last leg, huh? She usually only came to help when things looked their worst… not before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t a nice thing to admit, but Cyril wasn’t the type to sugarcoat the truth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, you’re picking up,” Shamir said coolly. “What do you think happened next?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cyril furrowed his brows. “Ya just joined the Knights of Seiros, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not quite,” his mentor replied. “I’m not a believer of the faith. Never have been, never will be. I began work for her as a mercenary, and later as her spymaster. When the Church needed someone to mediate between the Knights and Abyss, I was there. When she needed someone killed covertly, I was there. When she needed intel on people she didn’t think she could trust, I was there. Then a few weeks before you first came to Garreg Mach, that Yuri kid managed to worm his way into a leadership position in Abyss and offered to take over most of my dirtier duties for me. By then, Rhea warmed up enough to the prospect of knighting me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess that all makes sense,” the young man inquired, still bothered by one detail. “...but ya said it yourself: you’re not a believer. Why would you join the Knights of Seiros if being a nonbeliever would make ya stick out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The pay,” the knight replied. “The average Knight of Seiros makes twice of what I was offered when I was Rhea’s spymaster, and I wasn’t exactly in a position to negotiate my pay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it?” the young man asked, dumbfounded. “Ya did it for money?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything I’ve done has been for money to an extent,” answered Shamir. “Working for Rhea, taking you under my wing, going on the run with the Knights of Seiros; all of it has been to work off my debt. The day I faked my death on the battlefield and decided to leave Dagda, I knew I was a mercenary down to my bones. The mercy Rhea offered me was worth the cost of my life, and the only way I knew how to repay that was either to save hers or spend years paying off whatever I thought her life was worth. A knight’s pay was the quickest option available to me at the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now you’ve got other options,” Cyril murmured as he began to see where his mentor was going with this. “Lady Rhea needs saving, and knight’s pay or no, you’d be here forever otherwise…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” she replied simply. “Though in retrospect, I probably wouldn’t have accepted that knighthood if I knew this war was inevitable and that this was the side I’d be joining.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the same reason you should accept a knighthood when the time’s right,” the woman asserted. “A knighthood ties you to Fódlan. Regardless of anyone else’s objections, you become a full citizen by decree of the Church. You even get a bit of land if you want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds nice,” the young man mused aloud. “Though I don’t think I’m ever gonna be a knight...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t see why you wouldn’t,” Shamir responded. “You have more of a stake here than I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” mumbled Cyril, “but I’m not sure how true that is past my feelings. Ya said it yourself, Shamir: feelings don’t matter for much. When I think about knights, I think about Catherine or Alois or the knights from all those stories Ashe used to tell. I’m not like them at all; I’m not even like Dedue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shamir did not respond beyond raising a brow at him in puzzled silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not!” the young man insisted. “The only things Dedue and I got in common are our loyalty and the way people treat us. Everyone in the Kingdom brass except Dimitri and Gilbert treated him like some kinda monster, but he belonged in the knighthood there more than just about anyone I can think of. He didn’t become a knight ‘cause he wanted lands or fancy titles or even to change people’s minds; he was doing it all for Dimitri, the only person in the Kingdom that saw his people as people and actually tried to change things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knight narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat. “...And you’re dissimilar from him because?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because…” he paused. “...I don’t have the same attachment to where I’m from like Dedue does… I’m not even loyal to the same kind of person that he’s loyal to… Lady Rhea saved me and gave me a chance to feel like I actually belonged somewhere, but she didn’t really care about making things better for all the other people out there like me.” His breath hitched before he continued speaking. “I’m more like you, Shamir. I came here as an invader, and I’ve never stopped feeling like one. It was like that from time to time at Garreg Mach, and it’s felt worse since coming up here to Faerghus. I know there are people here in Fódlan who like me plenty, but there’re a whole lot more who don’t...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A brief silence fell between Cyril and his mentor before Shamir sighed and shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get your bow; I want to see you shoot,” Shamir commanded, turning from the warmth of the fire to make her way to the door. “We’ll make this quick so you don’t freeze half to death out there again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cyril knew better than to question her. “O-Okay. See ya out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shamir did not return the pleasantries, slipping through the door to the mill like a shadow. As Cyril retrieved his bow and quiver of arrows from the chest of his equipment stored by Saam’s stable, he also reached into his saddlebag to find something warm to wear. He fished out a jacket to put on underneath his mantle… as well as his fat stack of letters from Lysithea. There was about four years worth of them here in total, and Cyril had to tie them together with a bit of twine to keep them from getting all over the place.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lysithea was one of the people who liked him plenty. Whenever Cyril thought about his best friend, the idea of sticking around in Fódlan didn’t seem like such a lonely prospect. He hadn’t gotten around to carving anything for her just yet, but he had time for that later.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thoughtlessly shoving the stack into his jacket pocket and slinging his quiver over his shoulder onto his back, Cyril bade the roosting wyverns a quick “see ya” as he headed for the other side of the mill. He had noticed how his mentor had gotten in so discreetly when she cracked the door and slipped through instead of opening it all the way, so he did the same and was pleasantly surprised to hear no growls of protest from the occupants of the aviary. The young man stepped out into the lumberyard and felt the cold air on his skin again. Musing to himself at how grateful he was to have brought a jacket with him this time around, he rounded the corner of the building to see Shamir sitting on the log he had watched her from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before you start, come here and take this,” she instructed, holding out a black bandana.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it for?” he asked as he headed over to his mentor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know where your target is,” the knight said plainly, gesturing to the hay bale with her head. “Wear this over your eyes and hit it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… okay,” Cyril agreed, taking the bandana from the knight’s hand and folding it into a blindfold. “Can I take a shot without it first? My bow doesn’t have the same draw strength yours does, so I’ll probably need to make this a curved shot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Shamir replied sternly. “Fire however you’d care to, but do it with the blindfold on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrugging his shoulders, Cyril took a final look at the hay bale on the other side of the lumberyard before slipping the blindfold over his eyes and pulling an arrow from his quiver. The young man raised his bow in the direction of his target and - feeling a gentle breeze kiss his left cheek - adjusted his aim according to the wind. He nocked his arrow, drew his bowstring back and loosed it with his regular sense of poise. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t need his eyes to know that he missed his mark; he could hear the arrow hit the dirt. Shamir probably felt real disappointed in him</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Shamir, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologise,” ordered the knight. “Instead, I want you to tell me about Rhea. What do you think of her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh-What does that have to do with hitting my shots?” he bumbled, nearly removing his blindfold in bewilderment. When he heard no response from Shamir, however, the young man cleared his throat and tried to compose his thoughts. “What do ya wanna know? You know my story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, tell me what she means to you,” Shamir groaned. “What makes her so special that you’d come up here to Faerghus, where the weather disagrees with you almost as badly as it does for Saam?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno!” Cyril spat, flustered. “She’s like… a mother to me, I guess. I know she’s not perfect, but she gave me a home when I needed one and she let me see her in a light not a whole lotta people got to see her in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This was very embarrassing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing fine,” his mentor assured. “Keep going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Rhea… I felt special with her,” the young man admitted, “like I mattered. She’d eat breakfast with me, we’d talk about our days together, we’d go for walks on sunny afternoons when neither of us were too busy… I never had that before.” He paused to gulp. “To be honest with ya, Shamir, I don’t believe so much in the Goddess either, but I liked listening to Lady Rhea read scripture. It was real pretty and it sounded like poetry, especially when it came from her mouth. But I… I don’t think she believed what she said about the Goddess either… not everything, at least. Everytime she talked about Her when we were alone together, she seemed real sad. I think Lady Rhea used her faith to deal with how much she missed her own mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shamir did not respond for a few seconds, but cleared her throat and asked him to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I guess I wanted to be there for her,” Cyril carried on. “I thought if I could be like a son to Lady Rhea, maybe she’d move past the pain of losing her mother. She helped me move past the pain of losing my own parents, so it was the least I coulda done for her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that all changed when Byleth showed up, didn’t it?” he heard Shamir ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kinda,” he responded. “I think there was something about the Professor that reminded Lady Rhea of her mother… and because of that, I think Byleth was the child she chose.” Cyril sighed and soon felt himself smiling. “Y’know, I was real jealous for a while. It was like someone was stealing Lady Rhea away from me. When the Professor got the Sword of the Creator, I wanted a new bow. New hair and eye colour? I wanted ‘em too! Then I realised… I wouldn’t be me if I was the Professor… and I wanted Lady Rhea to love me for me. It took me a while, but I think being with the Golden Deer House that year made things a lot easier. Getting to know all those weird people was nice, and I realised that Byleth was a real good person… someone I’d miss. Lady Rhea wanted me to be with all those people, and I’m grateful to her for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shamir gave Cyril a hum of approval, and he heard her shifting in her seat as she allowed him a moment to let those thoughts sink in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead and fire your next shot,” Shamir directed once the moment was up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cyril did as he was ordered to do, and envisioned Lady Rhea behind him as he drew back his bowstring and let fly. This time, he heard his arrow fly farther than the previous one did before it too planted itself into the earth with a distant thud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was a bit better,” commented his mentor. “Now, think about someone else special to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cyril pressed his lips into a tight line across his face, and could feel himself blushing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I gotta say their name out loud,” he asked, obviously a bit embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really,” Shamir replied, a hint of amusement evident in her voice. “Though I see you brought her letters with you. You should have left them in your saddlebag if you didn’t want to discuss her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What an idiot Cyril was…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, fine!” the young man barked. “I don’t think ya need to ask me what Lysithea means to me, though; you knew I liked her before even I did. What do ya want me to say this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s start where we began,” the woman responded. “Tell me how you think my story with Catherine is going to end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What did that have to do with Lysithea?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno,” Cyril mumbled. “I think Catherine’s too much of a rebel to let her dad pin her down to whatever destiny she’s supposed to have. She wasn’t proud of herself when she turned Cristophe over to the Church all those years ago, and I get the feeling that she wants a fresh start too once Lady Rhea’s rescued and all this fighting is over.” As he spoke, Cyril could feel himself smiling again. “Plus: she loves you, Shamir, and I think ya love her back. Both of ya guys lost someone real close to you, and I think ya deserve a second shot with each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s for me to decide,” Shamir replied brusquely, attempting to brush off Cyril’s insolence. “More to the point, tell me how you think your story with Lysithea is going to end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pfft, we’re gonna be friends forever, but that’s just about it,” he scoffed. “I dunno what I’ve been thinking lately. I guess I’ve been setting myself up for disappointment. Even if Lysithea wasn’t a noble with a Crest from an important house, I’m always gonna be an Almyran. Here in Fódlan, that makes me an outsider. An invader. If she really does like me like Catherine keeps saying she does, I gotta find a way to let her down; being with someone like me would be bad for her.” He felt a bitterness beneath his cheeks that made smiling feel unpleasant. “If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get to go to her wedding and be in her life afterwards. I’d be happy enough with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not long after he finished speaking, Cyril heard Shamir stand up from the log and heard the crunch of the snow beneath her boots as she approached him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were right,” she said with a sigh. “We are alike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do ya mean by that?” he asked back hesitantly, turning back to face his mentor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything you just said,” Shamir replied, her regularly stoic tone wavering again. “All of that was going through my mind when I came here this afternoon, though tuned to my perspective. Did I somehow teach you to think like me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Cyril responded, scratching at his brow through the blindfold. “I’ve felt like this forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take that stupid thing off,” his mentor demanded. Cyril complied, and he found himself in a strange position the second that he did. Shamir was holding him in both her arms, pressing him into her shoulder. “Live the story you want to live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This was all kinds of weird. The only person Cyril had seen Shamir hug before was Catherine, and… this wasn’t that kind of hug. It felt… more like one of Lady Rhea’s hugs. No, even that was different and he knew it. Lady Rhea liked Cyril, but she didn’t love him the way he wanted to be loved. Shamir did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do I do that?” Cyril inquired, knitting his brow and hugging Shamir back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Follow your own advice to me,” Shamir replied, holding him for a moment longer before pushing back and offering him a stern gaze. “I’ll lead the way on that front; I’m not going anywhere without Catherine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>love her!” the young man beamed back, wearing a big, cheesy grin on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, turn around and put that blindfold back on,” the knight instructed, her dimpled cheeks betraying her otherwise taciturn facade. “We aren’t done out here just yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doing as he was asked, Cyril slipped the bandana over his eyes and pulled a third arrow from his quiver. As he nocked it and drew his bowstring back to his cheek, he pictured the way Lysithea would probably scold him when he showed her his huge stack of unopened letters and that nice smile of hers she would probably get when she taught him to read them. Then he imagined the bale of hay across the yard from him. Letting fly, Cyril heard the twang of his bowstring and then the thud of his arrow from off in the distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmph,” he heard Shamir snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed again, huh?” he groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take that bandana off and have a look for yourself,” she replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peeling the folded cloth from his face, Cyril blinked a few times to adjust his eyes to the light before looking out across the lumberyard. He saw his first arrow planted about three-quarters of the way from the hay bale and his second no more than five paces away from its target, but his final arrow was nowhere to be seen on first inspection. When he scanned the hay bale, however, he saw something short and slim poking out from the top of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He actually hit it?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bit far from the bullseye of your target, but that should do for now,” commented Shamir with a satisfied hum. “You’re improving here and there, but there’s still a lot I have to teach you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’d ya mean?!” Cyril protested, turning back to the knight and pointing to his successful shot. “I hit the target, didn’t I? Blindfolded! A whole building’s length away! And in the cold! I hate the cold!!!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hit your mark one time out of three,” his mentor pointed out. “You also missed the center by a margin that would have made your shot less than lethal.” She turned from him and started walking back to the mill. “And you still don’t know how to kiss a woman. Seems I have my work cut out for me with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Not fair! Shamir, wait up!” the young man exclaimed, heading after his mentor and nearly slipping on the icy ground beneath his feet. With the mid-morning sun still peeking through the clouds, Cyril decided that he could stand to wait until it got warmer in the afternoon to retrieve his arrows from the lumberyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For now, he had to try to save some face with Shamir… though she was probably trying to save some face around him too! In Shamir’s mind, Cyril figured she had to be as strong and as stoic as she could be to help teach him the skills he needed to survive in times of hardship. But that was starting to change. She had let her cool side down for a little while to let him know who she was beyond that. She even hugged him. That was more affection than Shamir had shown pretty much anyone besides her partner. What was the point in that? If Cyril had to guess, it was because she saw herself in him and wanted to put him on the right course. That’s what parents did, wasn’t it? In less than a year’s time, he’d be putting all she taught him to full use. That meant hitting his shots, being smart when he chose his fights and smarter when he chose his friends, not pushing Saam too hard, and… looking out for his partner. If he did all that and his allies did their part too, there was hope for so many more reunions than just the one at Garreg Mach. Dedue and the Duscurmen, Alois’s family… Lady Rhea. What would he say to her if all that happened? He didn’t know just yet… but he did know what he wanted to say to Lysithea. Four years was a long time to wait just to say it, but the Millennium Festival was only a few months away.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I apologise for getting this chapter out so late! My MA thesis has got my attention seriously divided!!!</p><p>With this, the timeskip chapters are finally over, and holy wow have they been a trip! It’s been an arc of personal growth and discovery for our leading couple as individuals, and it’s taken them in some wildly different directions. We’ve gotten to see them interact with new and familiar characters, and it’s been a real treat to write these little beans growing up a bit. </p><p>For our final Cyril chapter of the arc, I wanted things to finally stop sucking for him. While Lysithea has had her ups and downs at home in Ordelia, Cyril’s time in Faerghus has been pretty unpleasant. He’s been cold and afraid, dealt with horrible prejudice, found himself totally outclassed in battle, met some crazy individuals, and come to some pretty harsh realisations, and he’s kept his chin up through all of it because he’s got too much love and loyalty in his heart to do anything else. While this chapter touches on a lot of the feelings of isolation and dysphoria he feels as an unwanted minority in Fódlan, I wanted it to be an overall wholesome experience for him. Cyril’s brief interaction with Alois at the beginning was a fun way to officially introduce Alois into this fic. Despite not formally being one of the Knights of Seiros himself just yet, Cyril really sees a found-family of sorts in the Knights. In Alois’s case, Cyril finds someone unrelentingly positive in the big guy. He’s got his own family he’s trying to get back to and it’s been years since he’s seen them last, but he uses that longing to push him forward and make the best of the present. Shamir, on the other hand, is someone whose own past keeps her from fully embracing those around her in the present. I wanted to chip away at that in this chapter for both her sake and Cyril’s. Writing Shamir in a tender, open light was a bit of a challenge (and my initial instinct was to have her push Cyril away here), but I figured the shared sense of culture shock/immigrant dysphoria they have coupled with knowing each other's stories and their mentor-mentee dynamic opened up some opportunities for Shamir to let her empathy take the reins a bit more. Both characters have a very similar framework around their relationships with the women they love and with Fódlan, and because Shamir is able to identify this for herself, I think it makes her decision to embrace Cyril as the mother/sister figure he so badly needs feel all the more natural.</p><p>As always, please consider leaving this fic a kudos, a comment, or even a bookmark if you like it, and maybe consider sharing it around if you feel like someone you know might enjoy it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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